


Domination Centuries 3

by MishMish3000



Category: Draka Series - S. M. Stirling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 111,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MishMish3000/pseuds/MishMish3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final volume of a trilogy--an alternate version of S. M. Stirling's Drakon--follow Erin Kane, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson and their world as it faces a challenge to its very survival. S. M. Stirling wrote some of the Draka points of view, but all human ones were written by me. The characters are all inspired by his Draka series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One  
**

I wake to find my face itching. Immediately, my mind switches gears and tosses me back decades, to when I woke from being rescued after the USS Nimitz went down… the hospital smell, the burns along my hands, my face, my back. I try to sit up and someone gently pushes me back. “Please, Sera Erin, please don’t move too much…”

The woman’s voice sounds distant, and I manage to turn my head (it seems like a tremendous feat) to where the voice came from. Blearily, I see someone sitting next to me; closer to me is a medcomp, attached to my right arm. It’s on the outside of the cool blue covers, and I raise it to peer more closely. The woman frustratingly takes my hand and puts it back on the bed.

My body’s numb. I can’t feel anything, really…that frightens me. I close my eyes, and try to remember how I got here. The last coherent thing I recall is eating a tube of chocolate pudding, standing near Gwen on the bridge of the DEFS Merlin; we just finished giving the bugs something to think about, and the pudding was a celebration of sorts… I remember cheering when the sensors picked up the Bug ship, and we tore it to shreds with massed lasers and a pulse bomb or two. One Roach Motel down, about a thousand left to go. Then nothing. Darkness, smoke, a choking, tearing sensation; screams and shouted commands. Quiet. Now this, an arm on the cover of a bed, a medcomp and a pesky person who won’t let me do anything.

I open my eyes again, and it’s less blurry. I can focus if I work at it, I discover, and spend the next few minutes scrutinizing the synthetic flesh on my right arm. I try to move anything—a toe, a leg, my fanny— and still can’t. There’s a device raising the bedcover off my left leg, I can tell that much from how I’m positioned on the bed. I can’t tell why, or move the leg. Something beeps behind me, irritatingly, and my eyelids suddenly grow very heavy indeed.

“Erin?” Gwen’s voice wakes me. I struggle to stay awake, and also to ignore the ferocious itching all over my body. It itches so bad it hurts.

“Gwen? Muhmis?” My voice comes out as a baritone croak, much to my surprise. Something smooth touches my brow, and I realize it’s her hand.

“Yes, darlin’…it’s Muhmis. Do you know where you are? Erin?”

I groggily open my eyes again. “I’m all itchy, Gw—ah, Muhmis. Oh, gods, make it stop, please.”

She laughs, gently, and continues stroking my forehead. It feels divine. “I wish I could. But believe me, it’s better than what I had to endure, when I got molecular armor. Ten years of… discomfort. You’re lucky—progress. You’ll only feel like this for another few days, sweet one.”

“Molecular…” I open my eyes wide, and focus on her face. “But…what happened? I was eating some rations—pudding—on the bridge, next to you, and then I’m here, itching like I’ve been rolling in poison ivy for a week.”

She brushes some hair off my brow, curling it back on her finger to rest where it won’t get in my eyes. “Erin…you don’t remember anything else?”

“Nothing coherent, Muhmis.” I try to sit up, and something beeps. Gwen waves off the medical attendant who miraculously appears, and helps me sit up against the back of the bed. I look down, and notice that my left leg is ever so much shorter than my right one. What the hell?

“Let’s take things slowly, Erin,” Gwen says, checking a read-out on one of the numerous medcomps attached to me. “Breathe deeply for a few moments, and the light-headedness will dissipate.”

“Muhmis, what happened?!”

“You were on the bridge when we were…sideswiped…by one of the Bug ships. It caused a hull breach; there was some explosive decompression; a fire, very briefly, of course, and casualties. You were one of the lucky ones; so was I.” Her voice is firm, but compassionate. “You’ll be fine, Erin. We’re regenerating your leg; your spleen and one kidney are already fully functional. Your left arm is, too. You had some facial damage, some eye damage, but that’s been repaired as well.”

No wonder my eyes are blurry. They grew me new ones. Hell’s bells. I lift my left arm from under the covers, noticing the baby-pink skin, and the lack of wrinkles around my hand and wrist. I flex the fingers; it feels odd. “Why does it feel…weird, Muhmis?”

“You’ll have to get used to having subcutaneous molecular armor, and faster reflexes. We did some revisions on you while we were regenerating organs; consider it a face-lift. Jennifer will be jealous.” Her joke falls flat. She leans over and kisses me, ever so gently, on the lips. “The important thing is that you’re back. I was afraid I’d lost you.”

“I’m afraid of that, too, Gwen,” I whisper back. “There’s not much of the original me left, is there?”

“There’d be more of you left if you hadn’t played hero, young lady,” Schalk DeLange says. I turn to look at him, and note the arm in a sling. He looks down at it, and then back to me. “I can understand about the itching. It really is pretty bad.”

Gwen nods. Ever so briefly, she touches the side of her face; I look and discover new pink flesh there. So she was injured, too. Gods above. “Playing hero? Me?”

“Yes, you. You saved two people—a Samothracian and someone else. Dashing back into a compartment that’s undergoing explosive decompression isn’t a great idea, but I’d like to thank you for doing so.” He pulls up a chair to the side of my bed and sits down. “I bet someone else would like to say thank you, too, wouldn’t they?” His eyes lock onto Gwen’s, and she blushes. 

All the years I’ve been with her, I’ve never seen her really blush. Of course, I’ve seen the rush of color to her face during orgasm, and once or twice when she got furious with someone, but never like this, I think. I look over to her, the question plain on my face.

“Yes. Well. I was trying to stabilize things; a console fell on me; I was getting out from under it, and a hand reached out of the darkness and yanked me out the door. It was pretty chaotic but I know who did it. Thank you, Erin.”

I did it? I saved her? It’s supposed to be the other way around, isn’t it? My mouth opens and closes, silently, since I can’t think of anything to say. The two Draka chuckle over my shock, and hold my hands in theirs. “Thanks, Erin, for saving the woman I love. You’re a very special saafn, you know.” Schalk leans over and kisses me firmly. “Even though you’re as stubborn as a Draka sometimes.”

I grin. “Naw. Not little ole me.” My eyelids are growing heavy again, and I have to blink a lot to stay awake. “I ain’t stubborn atall.”

“Yes, you are, and thanks.” Gwen’s kiss is long, and deep; so is the dreamless sleep I drift into as she kisses me.

**   
“Thank Glitch you’re all right, Erin!” Rosta burbles, eyes filling with tears. “We were so worried, and frightened…they wouldn’t let us in to see you for days…”

“Rosta,” chides her brother Yannan. “Don’t get so upset that you weep all over the schematics you’re holding. Sera Erin’s back, and we’re back on track, right?” He looks over to me, resting on my cane.

I grin impishly. “Yeah, that’s us. Nobody, not even the Bugs, can derail the famed adjutant’s staff of the Archon…neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, not even a pulse bomb or two…” I sit down, sighing softly, onto the curved railing I’m near. “However, we do get kinda sleepy at times…”

“Do you need anything? Should we call someone? Are you all right, Sera?” Rosta’s big blue eyes get even bigger.

“No, no… I’ll be fine. Just have to rest every so often. Let’s go to the office, and get me all caught up on what’s been done while I was vacationing.” I pat her arm encouragingly, and we three walk slowly to the enclosed office area. Two other serfs, wearing the new grey flight-suits of Janissaries, are reclining on couches, their minds working hard on coordinating activities and routing logistics and ships. They briefly acknowledge our presence, and then go back to ignoring us, as they should. I smile: they’re well trained kids.

“Here’s a report on all the work we did while you were…recovering. Uhmis the Archon Ingolfsson sent us some extra help and we sort of did what we thought you’d do in any situation. Hope that’s all right with you, Sera Erin.” Yannan grins.

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine. That’s what I trained you to do. Thanks,” I reply, scanning the report he’s sent to me via transducer. They’ve done a fantastic job on their own over the past two weeks. I’m really impressed. “So we got fourteen more Warbirds? Wow.”

“There are eleven more coming in this week, from Earth/3,” Rosta replies, checking a holographic screen that pops into existence before her. “That, and about twenty smaller craft from PrimeLine. We’ve got a regular fleet here now.”

“’Bout time,” I mutter, looking over the latest casualty reports. They’re heavy, on human, Draka and Samothracian terms. “Maybe now we can kick some Bug ass.”

“Sera?” 

I look up from my screen. “Yes, Rosta?” She sounds curious. Hope she’s not going to ask about my regeneration process, or my new eyes, or anything…

“Why do we call them ‘Bugs’?”

“Come here, I’ll show you,” I say, patting the desktop next to where I’ve perched. Yannan smirks. “No, seriously, I’ll show you about the Bugs! Yannan, activate the security screen, would you?” A sort of hush settles over the three of us, as the rest of the office noise, and the slight hum of the ship’s propulsion units, is sifted out. Our voices sound slightly flat, and there’s no echo.

I put my notebook, similar to the one Gwen had with her when she first Arrived, years ago, on the desk. Tapping it, it obeys the command and expands to about 10 inches by 12. The screen lights up at my transducer command, and instantly fills with the image of the dead Merarch. The two servus flinch and step back.

“Granted that this is a pretty gruesome shot…sorry. But look here, as I pan up and to the left. See? There are three other things on the bridge with the dead Merarch. They’re what we call ‘Bugs’.” Almost unwillingly, the brother and sister move closer, looking at the screen section I’ve enhanced.

On it, past the blood and brain-spattered head of the unfortunate Merarch, three gangly, inhuman creatures move slowly. Long, sharply spiked legs skitter back and forth; one long talon is imbedded in the Draka’s skull, holding her up to the vidscreen. The one holding her is taller than the others, and its shell is more brightly colored: iridescent green, vivid red, a putrid yellow stripe down the middle. Chittering noises, culled from the background noise on the dying ship, indicate that they can communicate vocally, although I’d bet a million aurics they use the long antennae on their heads for talking, too.

“Gods and Overlords save us, they’re…horrid!” Rosta swallows hard and turns away, face pale. Yannan looks for a few more seconds, and nods.

“They are, indeed. Now I see why. Does anyone have an idea where they came from, Sera? Or do you know?”

I close the file, and rub my eyes. “Well…it was all sort of unknown for several days. Once we got a glimpse of them in the vidscreen, though, we had a good idea of what they looked like.” Experts are working on the language, too, the chitters…I’m glad I don’t have their job, I think to myself. Hate to listen to that over and over again…

“We’re not sure where they’ve come from. One idea is that they are some sort of intelligent insect species that thinks hominids in general are tasty. Another, more disturbing theory is that the mole hole technology may have alerted them to our presence…” I resist the urge to scratch my leg by beating a quick rhythm on the desktop with my hand. “They may have evolved from hominids, or something like the little clean-up bugs we have around here.”

“The little robots?” Yannan sounds surprised.

“Yes. Once, several hundred years ago, they had to ‘sanitize’ a Luna base colony, after the critters learned to reproduce. The Draka had to nuke the colony to stop the little bastards. Now very careful supervision and an implanted suicide node control that possibility. But it’s a theory, only—we’ll never be sure unless we capture one or two and get the information out of them.” I reach over to squeeze his arm gently.

“One thing I have noticed over the past week’s fighting: we’re learning, and they’re starting to have losses. They’re not used to that. One WarBird or one Strike Ship, or whatever the Samos are using, can’t compete—the Bug ships gang up on it, and destroy it before our weapons have a chance to do much of anything. But if we band two or more ships together, in a sort of hunting pack, we can get enough power through their shields to blow them away.”

“Yes, I saw that in the last two reports that came through here…that I had the clearance to read, of course,” Yannan nods. “So the Overlords can beat the…Bugs.”

“With the help of the Samothracians and us pesky ole humans.” I stand up, and tap the notebook shut. It closes to about the size of an old time credit card, and I slip it into my pocket. “So, now I’ve caught you two up with current events, which shouldn’t be discussed outside this security envelope, and you’ve caught me up with the great job you two have done while I’ve been…recuperating.”

“Sure glad you’re back, Sera Erin!” they chorus, together. We all laugh, a moment of shared friendship in the midst of war.

“So am I, kiddos, so am I.” The shift must be changing, since the operators are gingerly sitting up from their leather body couches and their replacements are waiting impatiently to get started. “I’ll be back up to a full day’s work tomorrow or the next day, depending on what Muhmis says. But really, y’all, you’ve done an excellent job, and I’m making sure she hears about it.” The two servus blush deeply with pleasure, at the compliment, and hug me before I leave the compartment.

As I walk down the corridors, heading for Muhmis’ cabin, I notice a new level of courtesy to me. Servus, regardless of their rank, bow lower to me than usual; humans do, too, although I catch several glances and wide grins afterwards from them. The few Draka I see smile, and wave off anything other than quick, working bow. Hmm…this is new, I say to myself. I guess after what happened…I wish I remembered more. Oh, well, that’s life. Do something cool and you can’t remember doing it. That’s about my luck.

“Good shift, Adjutant,” says a voice, and I look up into cool grey eyes. A Samothracian is standing in front of me, arms crossed, a wide smile on her face. The overhead lights glint on her chest medals, and I automatically scan them. Wow, an Award of Honor from the Republic. They don’t give those out for peeling spuds… She’s a fighter pilot, too, I notice.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, returning the smile guardedly. I still don’t feel comfortable around the Samos, after the little incident with my transducer during the initial negotiation talks. “May I help you?”

“No, you already did, and I wanted to…” her voice trails off, and looking around, we both notice that a small group has gathered around us. Mostly human Space Force and Samothracians, but there’s a Draka or two on the outer edges of the group, watching carefully. I recognize one of them, one of Gwen’s aides, a youngster only 60 years old, just on her first real duty assignment. Clara Smitson, that’s it; she looks nervous.

“Um, I wanted to say thank you, for saving my life the other week. You pulled me out of there like a rocket was attached to you! Good thing, too, since we were the last to get out alive. Thanks, Erin Kane d’Ingolfsson.” She puts out her hand and I shake it; her grip’s strong, but not as strong as I would have expected. She shrugs a little, and winces. “Still healing…bet you know what I mean.” I nod, holding her eyes with my own. I do, indeed.

The crowd breaks into a cheer, and people are patting me on the back. My eyes wide, I try to keep a smile on my face as I push gently through the throng. “Speech, speech,” someone starts chanting, and soon, everyone (except the Draka) are saying it. I shake my head no, blushing crimson, but they keep yelling. Someone pushes a chair over to me, and then hands are helping me up onto the seat. My head barely clears the top of the group, but the people immediately quiet down.

“Um…this is…I mean, it’s…” I wring my hands, notice that I’m doing that, and put them in my pockets. “Good people…thanks. I did what anyone else would have done in the same situation.” Cheers and a few shouts of “Saving a Draka and a Samo—” stop me. I wait for them to subside before going on; I don’t mind, since it gives me a moment or two to think.

“Yes, I saved a Samothracian and a Draka. But you know what—in the midst of all that chaos, I couldn’t tell who was who, anyway. I was just trying to save lives.” The crowd murmurs a little at this. “It’s all a matter of us working together, despite our differences, to defeat a common enemy. The Bugs. And if we keep working together the way we’ve been, we’ll do it. We have to do it. Thanks for your cheers and attaboys—but they should go to the fighter squadrons and their members, not me. Thanks, y’all.” I step down to another round of cheers, my face glowing red. Wish I didn’t blush like this.

Almost instantly, Smitson and her companion are at my side, firmly but nicely clearing a path for me. Crowds make me claustrophobic, so I certainly don’t mind their help. The group starts to disperse, some of the younger and rowdier ones taking up a song about “1001 Ways to Kill a Bug”. It’s pretty inventive, if I do say so myself, I think. 

Clara touches my shoulder softly. “Are you all right, pretty wench?”

“Yes, Uhmis Smitson. It was just a surprise, that’s all. I’m okay,” I smile. “I’m definitely not used to making impromptu speeches. That was embarrassing!”

“You did well, though. Your Muhmis will be proud. In fact, she sent for you—did you get the transducer message yet?”

“Yes, Uhmis.” I tap the mastoid bone under my right ear. “That’s been up and working for a couple of days now. I’m on my way to see her right now, in her quarters.”

“Oh, good. Need an escort?” Smitson’s companion, a dark blonde young Draka man, asks.

“No, Uhmis, thanks very much. I think I’ll be fine now,” I answer, looking up into her pale, athletic-looking face. “I’m going there right now.”

They pat me companionably on the back and leave me to make my way to Muhmis’ cabin. No one else clamors for a speech and I walk on, noticing only the smiles and bows I am receiving. I wish they’d stop; I’m not a hero. I was just in the right place at the right time. The real heroes are dead. They were in the wrong place at the right time, but did their job anyway. Considering these thoughts, I’m much more introspective than I was when I left the office a few minutes ago, and it shows on my face when I enter Gwen’s cabin.

“Tired, mia dolce?” She gets up from behind her desk, laying down a transducer band as she rises, and comes to pick me up in a gentle bear hug. “You’re not supposed to be back on full days yet, young miss.”

“I know, Muhmis…mmmpphh,” I manage, as she kisses me passionately. “I know. I just stopped in at the office, and wanted to tell you how…mmmmhh…great a job Yannan and Rosta did while I was out of the circuit…” I return her kisses with interest. Haven’t felt this good in a long, long time.

“I liked your speech, by the way. Good thinking on your feet—one of the things I prize about you. One of the many,” Gwen says, cradling me in her arms and returning to her chair. She sits me in her lap, and I lean against her, relishing the contact, the warmth, the familiarity of it all. I’ve grown used to her over the last few decades, I realize. And she’s grown used to me. It doesn’t mean boredom, it means comfort.

“Sit here for a bit, and snuggle, and then when I’m finished, we’ll have something to eat, my darlin’,” Gwen murmurs in one of my ears. I nod, and feeling tiredness overwhelm me, I close my eyes and curl up in her lap, like a cat, and nap for a bit…

**  
The dream is stark, black and white…no colors in the faces, no color in the roses on the casket. I’m mired in cement, and can’t move my feet; inexorably, though, I’m carried closer and closer to the coffin. Its lid is propped open; the Draka flag behind it and the Space Force flag on top of it make light and dark patterns. I don’t want to look inside, I don’t want…

It’s May. Her face is so still, so composed, so lifeless. I reach out to touch her, trying to tell her to stop playing these foolish tricks on me, and to wake up. I want to see her merry smile, her bright eyes, hear her laughter…but stillness is all that greets me. I can see mouths moving in the crowd of people around me, but no sounds meet my ears.

No, please, not this…not this kind of dream, the ones that always come true…please, I can’t stand to lose her. She’s so merry, so vivacious. She’s the best of me and Alice put together. I shudder, desperately trying to wake myself. I can’t. Alice’s face swims into focus, and I can read her lips. It’s your bloody fault, she whispers venomously, hatred clear on her face. If you hadn’t helped them get here, she’d… 

She wouldn’t be here then, I think to myself. May would never have been born. My head whirls, and so does the room, faces in a circle of blurs, and I feel my scream welling from the bottom of my heart. No, no, please don’t take my child…

I jolt awake in Gwen’s arms, and she looks down at me quizzically. Her leaf-green eyes are distant, though, and I know she’s busy working. I know what it’s like to have the real world intrude on the virtual workplace we’ve created, and shake my head no at her raised eyebrow. I lever myself up from her arms, and silently pad to the washroom, where I soak my face in cold water for long moments.

Those dreams…they come so rarely; if they came any more often, I’d go mad. If I’m not already mad, I think to myself. God, I hate them. I hate having them. The one I had about Alexandra hasn’t come to happen yet, but it might…no, it will, I append mentally. It will; they always do. This one…oh, sweet Jesus, don’t take May. She’s so bright and happy…so happy with Ariadne, with her studies, her skills as a navigator. Maybe it was just a regular old nightmare, and it won’t…

“Erin?” Gwen’s leaning against the doorframe, eyes showing her concern. “What’s wrong?”

I shudder, and reach for the cloth to wipe my face. She hands it to me, and our hands touch. The momentary contact, the warmth, the knowing I have of this woman—so different from me in so many ways, but still with a level of communication I don’t have with anyone else—it grounds me a little. I smile raggedly, and meet her level look with one of my own.

“A dream. One of those dreams. May’s dead; Alice blames me.”

“Ahia…” The Draka woman takes my arm, and leads me back to the room we had been in, her office. “Here, sit while I fix you some wine, and myself a brandy.”

“But…but… I can do that, Muhmis,” I stutter, surprised. She firmly pushes me down into the cushioned bed/couch, and smiling, walks over to the food processor in the wall. She returns with a glass of sangria for me and a snifter of brandy for herself, curling up catlike on the end of the couch, facing me.

“So…tell me.” Gwen sips at her brandy.

“It’s… there’s not a lot to tell. It was a dream, in black and white, and everything was silent. I read Alice’s lips. She blames me for May’s death. I realized in the dream that May wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the Arrival, though…I’m confused. I’m scared, Gwen.” I shiver slightly and drink about half the glass down.

“I’ve not had time yet to do research on these dreams of yours, but they are very…interesting. The one about Alexa hasn’t come true yet, so perhaps with foreknowledge, we can change the course of things just enough that the worst doesn’t happen. At least that’s an idea we can consider.”

I nod. “This whole thing…since the Bugs, I mean…it’s been so damn stressful. Plus the divorce… now I have these biomods to get used to. I almost put my own eye out the other day, when I went to rub it. You didn’t warn me about that…”

Gwen laughs, a soft bronze sound, elfin bells ringing through a wooded vale. “Oho, yes, I did warn you. I told you it would take some getting used to, young wench. And it will. But the added strength and faster reflexes are worth it, in the long run.”

“Why? I’m not a warrior, Gwen.”

She pauses, looking at me out of the corners of her eyes for a moment, before going on: “No, you are a warrior of sorts, and you’re going in harm’s way. That’s one reason for you to be modified. Another reason was that I want my staff to be able to take care of themselves if I’m…otherwise occupied. A third reason is that you earned it.”

“Is this another reason: hey, she’s so messed up now, if it fails and she gets all discombobulated somehow, we can just euthanize her and say, ‘Oops, so sorry, these biomods don’t work well with archaic humans!’ ?” My voice is cool, but she sees the anger in my eyes. She probably also scents it, but I’ve been working on that.

“No! Not at all. It was touch and go there for a bit, even with our technology. But you pulled through. The biomods were implanted and grown while you were regenerating. No experiments…we already knew the molecular armor would work with archaics. And no, you don’t want to know more about that.” Our eyes meet and a contest of wills silently takes place. Finally, realizing she’s probably right, and that I’d like to be able to sleep tonight without nightmares, I drop my eyes and nod.

“I won’t run experiments on you, Erin. You’re a very dear saafn to me, highly honored, highly trusted. I don’t want to risk losing you. I know the chance is there, since you’re with me, and I lead a risky life sometimes. A lot of the time. But you’re never just a serf to me…not anymore.” She growls slightly and shifts her posture, sipping brandy to cover it. But I’ve been around Draka for years now, and can pick up on slight hints like what she just gave: she’s personally uncomfortable, but not ready to break off the conversation. I wait, quietly.

“Sssaaaa…” She rubs one lean, tanned hand across her eyes, and sighs. “Erin, Erin, Erin… whatever am I to do with you?”

“What you will, Muhmis.” I say it earnestly, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. 

“What I will? Gods above and below, what I will is that these blasted bugs are dust under my feet, and we’re headed off to explore a new universe, you and I…”Gwen leans back against the bulkhead, cradling the snifter in one hand. She looks into my eyes, and I see a sparkle in hers, laughter and sadness combined into tears. 

“And Schalk, of course.” I grin. “He’s your Main Thang, as Peter would have called him. Come to think of it, Peter would have been all ga-ga about Schalk. Probably vice-versa, too.”

“You’re right there. Peter was a lovely mount…” Gwen reminisces, “but then again, you know that, too, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yeah, I sure do. Did. I miss him, Gwen. Not so much for that, but just to talk with. God, we could talk for hours, about anything. Or just sit and be comfortably quiet with each other. I loved him.”

“You still do. I understand, believe me. I miss Alois a great deal—senior, that is. Although Alois Junior is a joy to be around, and a lot of that is your influence. I think you’ve been a wonderful person for the children to grow up with, Erin.”

I sip the last bit of my sangria. “Thanks. It was a joy to do it. That’s one thing about the whole Domination-Arrival change that I haven’t minded so much.”

“It still grates to be a serf, though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Gwen. It always will.” I watch her face closely. “Even though we’re lovers, and friends, that will always be a big hole in the road for us. The mother of all potholes. I have to be honest with you about that, like everything else.”

“I know.” She looks pensive. “Maybe…”

I move to sit next to her, relishing the warmth, the contact. I look up into her aquiline face, and wonder what she’s so hesitant to talk about. “Maybe?”

“I was thinking perhaps that this isn’t the time to talk about these things, that perhaps I should just fuck your brains out all night long, and see how those reflexes hold up under a real workout.” She grins at me, teeth startling white in her tanned face. 

I grin back. “Well, that’s always an idea. I’m sure we’ll get to test things out sometime soon. But what else is it—what else do you want to talk about? I know it’s something important, but it’s like you’re uncomfortable about it or something. Talk with me, Gwen.”

“Maybe it is time to talk. With the battles coming up, we may not have much of a chance for visiting for a bit. I’ll be in combat mode, and you’ll be so busy you’ll have to schedule time to breathe.” Gwen reaches over and puts an arm around my shoulders. “And yes, you’re very perceptive. I am uncomfortable talking about this. Why? I think it’s because…I’m concerned about how deeply I feel for you, and what our relationship is becoming.”

“Okay…” I wait.

She squeezes me slightly. “All right…at first, you were a pleasing mount, an interesting little human. But you have become more than that over the years. You’ve made several choices to remain loyal to me, even when there was the possibility to think otherwise. You’ve borne two of my children. You’ve helped raise all my children on Earth/2. You’ve been instrumental in the peaceful takeover of the planet.”

“What else could I do?” I whisper, as she pauses, growling slightly in discomfort at having to talk about such things. I guess Draka aren’t trained in this, I think to myself, forcing the smile that bubbles up from that thought to stay hidden. “What other choice did I really have? I mean, I could have chosen death, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I chose to make the best of a poor situation. I coped.”

“You lost your best friend to a terrorist strike aimed at Draka personnel.”

“My best friend who was organizing an underground resistance movement, even though you knew all about it, all the time, didn’t you?”

Gwen nods. I go on:

“I thought so. Yes, I lost my best friend, and I talked you into erasing the people who did it. I never wanted to kill anyone, but I would have gladly killed each and every one of them.” I hug my knees close, having put the empty glass of sangria on the floor before scooting over next to Gwen. “Gladly.”

“You’ve prevented me from making mistakes more than once—erasing the terrorists, not making them into martyrs…Space Force as an outlet for human creativity and restlessness…and then there was Rolf.” Gwen’s voice goes cold at the mention of his name.

I wince. “Yes…there was Rolf.” Last time I checked, he was commanding an outpost in the Oort Belt, and could hope for a glorious death in battle. Coming home to Prime Line wasn’t left as an option, I don’t think. Brrr…I bet the interview between him, Alexis Renston, and Gwen was something to see. Not that I’d have wanted to be anywhere nearby…

Gwen hugs me close. “I made my apology in public to you, and I meant every word. I mean this now, too, even more: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. That’s not something you’ll hear a Draka say to a subject race every day. I think you know that, and know how I mean it. I’m sorry, and I feel quite…badly…about it.”

“What, you mean you can’t just put it out of your mind?” I try to sound like I’m joking, but we both know I’m not.

“No…I can put it out of my mind when I need to focus on something else completely, but it is something I’ve been thinking a lot about. And I know, carefully hidden under that calm exterior, you’re hurt and angry with me. That’s why…that’s why I’m apologizing again, Erin.” Gwen puts her head down on top of mine, and in a whisper, continues:

“I have found, to my considerable surprise, that I need you in some ways. This is something completely private between us. Between Muhmis and saafn, between me and thee. I was very… uncomfortable being without you, and missed you… a lot. When you tried to tell me about Rolf, you were telling me something part of my mind was also trying to tell me. I rejected you, and my intuition, and almost impaled myself, politically speaking, out of pride and wanting to deny things that I knew were happening.”

I slip an arm around her waist, and hug. “I would never come between you and a lover, Gwen. Maybe that’s what surprised me so much—I never thought you’d think I was that dumb. I am aware, always aware, that you’re Muhmis, and I’m merely a serf.”

“Mmmmhh. But that’s part of the problem…you’re not merely a serf anymore. You’re giving speeches to mixed crowds of humans, Samothracians, and Draka. You’re saving Draka and Samothracian lives at the risk of your own. You’ve become physically quite different from any other humans in existence. You’ve become…” Gwen’s voice fades away, and she’s silent for long moments.

“You’ve become more than a serf to me. Other Draka are noticing, and some are worried about it. Others are planning on developing their own human staffs to resemble you…some have emotional ties to humans that are almost as strong as yours and mine. It’s becoming a political issue, a hot one.”

“Are you telling me you’re going to send me away, or cool off the relationship we have, Gwen?” The hurt and surprise in my voice I don’t bother to disguise.

“No, no, no…” Gwen cups my chin, tilts my head back, and kisses me gently on the lips. “That’s not it, at all. No, Erin, I’ll never send you away. And I guess part of my point tonight is that…I’m trying to tell you how much I value you as a person, and as a lover. You’re my favorite, in more ways than one. You always will be. We have centuries, millennia, if we’re lucky. I want you to be with me forever, mia dolce ragazza.”

“But I’ll still be your serf, won’t I?” I ask quietly, kissing her back tenderly.

“Perhaps…perhaps in the next few hundred years, things will be changing. I can’t promise. You know we Draka are positively glacial when it comes to making decisions like that. For now, yes. To be honest, yes, and that’s how I feel comfortable with you. Our roles are changing somewhat, but I’m still your Muhmis. I can’t, and won’t, change that right now. Can you accept that? This is in the spirit of honesty, Erin, that I’m trying to share this with you. Is it going to present an unsolvable problem for you and I, sweet?”

Time seems to slow down as I think over what she’s just told me. The possibility of freedom, even if it’s down the road a long ways, is still a possibility. It’s amazing that she’d even consider such a thing, coming from her mindset and hard-wired social instincts. This represents a major paradigm shift for her to make; no wonder she was so uncomfortable talking about it. The mere fact that she could, though, is a plus. Can I live being a slave, for years and years, pinning my hope on a maybe? Can I live without her, though? Can I live with her as my owner? I have, for decades now. Can I go on?

“Gwen…my Gwendolyn. God, how I wish we didn’t have to bother with all this Muhmis/serf stuff. But that’s the way your society is set up, and you are higher on the food chain than I am. I can see that logically. It’s been hard, very hard at times, to be a serf. You said once that you’d suicide before becoming a serf, that you literally, physically couldn’t tolerate it. I have. For years, decades, now. All the humans on Earth/2 have… most of them don’t have daily contact with Draka, though. I have, and maybe it’s made it both easier and harder at the same time.”

She waits for me, now, silently holding me close. I feel her heart beating, so much more rapidly than mine, as I think of what else to say. “Gwen…I made the choice a long time ago, when I was so much younger, so naïve, so …different from who I am now. I made the choice to serve, and survive. That’s history. I don’t feel like changing my mind, either. You’re willing to entertain the thought of me not being a serf one day in the future, and that’s…amazing.”

Gwen chuckles, softly. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m willing to stay with you, serve you even. I know what the alternative is.”

“I’d find something else for you to do…I wouldn’t have you put down, darlin’…”

“Hell, Gwen, in my day, put downs weren’t fatal! They just hurt your feelings,” I laugh. “No, I know what you mean. And no, I don’t want to leave your side. Despite the fact that I’m owned by you, I still manage to love you. That really made my head hurt when I first realized it. But now, after years, I realize that the ownership thing is just a construct, made by your culture, and I have bowed to it. I don’t agree with it. But I accept it, for now. Gwen, my Gwen, I don’t want anything to come between us. The serf issue is something between us, but it’s not something we can change overnight. If I tried, I’d end up on a stake, and if you tried, you’d probably be killed by your own people. But if we can think about another destiny for humans besides serfdom; maybe one day it’ll happen.”

“You’re pretty damn realistic for an emotionally-minded human, little one,” Gwen says.

“I’ve learned all about realistic thought, and consequences of actions, since I’ve lived under Draka rule.”

“True.” She nods. “So you can still ‘deal with’ being my serf, even though you know I…need you… in some ways? You wouldn’t try to manipulate that, now would you? The consequences… would be… unfortunate. I hope you know that, Erin.”

“Have I ever tried to twist you around my finger, knowing how much you like me? Or, later, once we really figured things out, how much you loved me? And how much I love you?”

“Well, if I exclude your trying to talk me out of punishments for certain other serfs…” Gwen sighs. “No, Erin Kane d’Ingolfsson, I don’t think you’ve ever tried to manipulate me based on my feelings for you, or your feelings for me. That was partly my insecurity speaking, child.”

I look up into her eyes. “You, a Draka, insecure? Nah, never happen…” I grin, and kiss her.

“Now…if you’re going to make fun…” She kisses me back, hard. “Yes, we have insecurities. That’s why we stay on top. Always.”

“Isn’t that a strain, always staying on top?” I ask. “Don’t you ever just want to say, ‘Aw, to hell with it, do your own thing, I’m outta here!’ or something?”

“We find release sometimes in relationships among our own kind, or now, with exploration work. But no, it feels very natural and ‘right’ to be on top, not something I feel as a strain in any way… not usually. But then again, it’s damn unusual to love a human the way I love you. And I do, Erin. I may not say it very often, but I mean it.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. Thanks, Gwendolyn. You know I love you, too. And you know how much…”

“Yes, and thanks for pulling me out from under that console. Even though it dislocated your shoulder.” She pulls me over onto her lap, and our mouths meet for a long, delicious time.

“It did? I didn’t notice…”

Leaf-green eyes look down into my hazel green ones. “No, I know you didn’t, since you got me to the door and charged back inside, before I could stop you, you little vixen.”

“That’s me, Rescue Vixen.” I wrap my fingers behind her head, under her hair, and pull her down to me. “So, how are you gonna make up for dislocating my shoulder, you big galoot?”

“Let me show you how I’ll make it up to you…first, a little of this…and then some of this…”

“Ahh…oh! Oh, god! Hhhnnnnhh! Gwen! Hey, maybe I should save you more often---mmmph!” The night passes, each in each other’s arms, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten, even the dream I had. For a few hours, Gwen’s the only person in the universe for me, and I for her. It’s an interlude that’s too brief, but glorious. Her eyes looking down into mine, her lips on mine…hands and bodies moving in the most ancient of dances, to music only we two can hear.

Outside our little world, the war approaches like a swarming, churning, black cloud of locusts…


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

**  
The alarm relayed through our transducers jolts us both awake instantly. Gwen’s up and rapidly stepping into her uniform before I’m through rubbing my eyes. It feels like we’ve only been asleep minutes, but a quick time check reveals we’ve had five and a half hours of rest. We were both out like lights, I think to myself, not surprising after the exertions of a few hours ago. I should be feeling tired, but an unaccustomed surge of energy ripples through me. I bounce from the bed and quickly get dressed. I hear water running in the bathroom, and then Gwen emerges, wiping her face. She tosses the towel to the floor and braids her hair in quick, precise movements.

“Come on, wench, we’ve got to go…” Her voice has an edge to it, not quite Command, but close to it. Her eyes seem larger, too, I think, and quickly wash my face and hands. Completing my brief ablutions, I hurry from the bathroom, feeling my heart bang against my ribcage. What in the world is wrong with me, I wonder, and stop, my hand to my chest.

Gwen walks over, takes my hand, and smiles. “You’re just feeling the rush of combat hormones, little one. You don’t have as strong a dose as a Draka has, but you’re much more wired for action now than most humans. Believe me, you’ll need it.” She squeezes my hand, and then puts one of her hands behind my neck, holding me steady while she bends down to kiss me, long and hard.

“Part of the modifications you did on me, Muhmis?” I manage to ask a moment later. My pulse is ringing in my ears, and I feel—how do I feel? Ferocious? Brazen? Hyper? High? The words tumble through my brain, and I can’t pick the one, or the combination of several, that truly describe how I feel.

“Yes.” Gwen straps on her layer knife. “Let’s go.” Conversation ends as we bolt from the room, down crowded corridors filled with people hurrying to their battle stations. We reach the bridge of the Merlin in record time, mostly due to people—Samothracian, Draka, and human alike—getting hurriedly out of Muhmis’ way. I follow easily in her wake.

“Sensors indicate a large group—over thirty—of the Bug ships entering the Oort belt region. Two of the Samothracian corvettes have been attacked; one escaped, the other was destroyed with all hands. Our ships are on the highest alert condition, and we are in position according to Plan Zed.” The young Draka reporting to Gwen seems almost eager for the fight; her answering nod and smile make me realize that the Draka, at least, are looking forward to the battle. They’re wired that way.

“Good. I want the reserves to shield themselves—no unnecessary communications, use the new technology we’ve got for cloaking…and they should be in place by now. Move the first echelon of ships on the front line out, in combat formation.” She turns from the officer and walks to the central part of the bridge structure, near where her chair is situated.

“Attention, all hands. This is Archon Ingolfsson. We’re about to enter a historic battle, one that will decide the fate of empires, and one that will spell doom for the invaders of our homelands, the Bugs, I believe they’re being called. No matter their name—they will be destroyed. The combined might and technology of the Domination of the Draka and our allies, the Samothracians, will be a surprise for the Bugs, a fatal one.”

My transducer shows me virtual video feeds from various ship compartments. Draka stand at attention; the serf auxiliaries bow, in the position of submission to superior, and the Samothracians actually look interested. Cheers erupt as Gwen finishes talking.

“Do your duty. That’s all I ask of any of you. If we work together, now, we can eradicate this menace to both our societies. Brothers and sisters of the Race, I lead you now into battle. Service to the State!”

“Glory to the Race!” echoes around the bridge, and through the video feeds in my head. Little shivers cascade down my spine, hearing the raw ferocity behind the words. These folks mean business, ole girl, I think to myself. I grin, more to myself than anyone else, and the Samothracian advisor next to me leans over and whispers:

“You’re starting to look more like a Snake than a human!”

My grin freezes in place. I turn my head slowly, so that I’m facing the woman who whispered. Retorts rush through my mind, but I’m stopped by sudden recognition of the face: it’s Emily, Emily Richardson. “My god, you were just a kid when I saw you last…”

“We grow up, too, you know,” she chuckles, while her hands are busy on her keyboard, relaying commands to Samothracian ships. “But you should have seen the expression on your face, Sera Erin. Truly, a ferocious Draka, in miniature.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Draka Junior. Not!” I smile and reach over to tousle her hair. Then the need for concentration becomes paramount, and my mind is thrust into the virtual world of commands, requests, orders, and tracking movement that Gwen requires of me. The outside world ceases to exist for me, but I am aware that someone’s put my arm, limp now, back on the armrest of the couch I’m on. Nice of them, I think, while I have the chance for independent thought. Have to thank someone, or my arm would have fallen asleep, hanging off the couch…

**  
The first wave of attack has passed; we lost two ships, a Draka cruiser and a Samothracian scout ship, but the enemy reeled back from the assault in shock. Over forty of their vessels, which they thought were shielded into invisibility, were destroyed by the concentrated efforts of Samothracian and Draka firepower, coordination and control. I sit up, still mentally reviewing the results, and sigh. More letters for commanding officers to write, on both sides…Samo and Draka alike. “I regret to inform you…” I shudder. My dream is still strong in my memory, and I sincerely hope Gwen’s right…that by having knowledge of the circumstances, we can alter them enough to change things.

“Are you all right, Sera Erin?” Emily asks, coming over to kneel by my couch.

I nod, slowly. I always seem to be in a fog of sorts after doing heavy transducer work, but since the combat biomods have been implanted, it seems to clear up a little more quickly. I think back to Peter and I first learning how to use the dang transducers, and smile despite my bone-deep tiredness. “Yes, honey, I’m fine. Thirsty, though…”

“Here,” she says, handing me a drinking tube. Lemonade, chill and sweet, spurts into my mouth, and I sigh in contentment. 

She’s quickly eating some sort of ration; I take an experimental sniff, and discover it’s chicken soup. Sitting up completely, I look over to the dispenser, which is currently quite busy supplying hungry Draka, humans, and Samothracians. I decide not to bother, since the line’s pretty long. I can wait a bit, I think, and if I know the bugs well, they’ll be back soon, and madder than hell. I finish the lemonade and walk over to a recycle bin to throw it away.

Gwen is bent over a holographic chart suspended in front of her; several other high ranking personnel are standing near, looking over the map and projecting possible attack routes and configurations on it. She straightens up and gazes down into my eyes, her own wide with combat hormones racing through her. She actually likes this stuff, I think, as much as hunting snowbeasts, or cougars, or feral ghouloons… not me. I hate this. I wish it was over, already.

“How are you doing, Erin?” Her voice is husky, but not from frisky feelings. It’s combat lust, this time.

“Just fine, Muhmis. Have you had anything to drink? Would you like me to fetch you something?” I stand next to her, looking up into her tanned, aquiline face.

She smiles, and strokes a finger down my face. “When we’re done here…I have plans for you, my pretty pony. Believe me. But yes, I would like something to drink, saafn mine.”

Blushing, I bow to her and make my way to one of the dispensers. As I walk back, a couple of tubes of lemonade in my hands, I see Emily looking across the room at me. The expression on her face is quickly guarded, but I know what I saw…almost a disgust. A rejection of me in my role as saafn. Ah, well. I can’t help that; she’s a nice enough kid, though, I think. Maybe one day she’ll understand. I hand the drinking tubes to Gwen, and she quickly downs one, then the other, handing the remnants back to me and turning back to the holographic map intently.

An alarm sounds in my transducer, and the crowd around the dispenser dissipates immediately, people hurrying to their battle stations. I hop onto my couch, and fit the transducer band over my temples. Immediately, Gwen’s commands flood my consciousness. The Bugs are back, and with a vengeance. This time they’re not bothering to shield themselves, and there are at least one hundred of their ships bearing down on us.

Why are they not shielding…the thought teases at my consciousness, until I somehow make some mental room to think about it in the midst of relaying orders to Draka commanders and sending their confirmations and comments back to Muhmis, sorted in priority order…why? Because…because they are diverting the energy to weapons is one possibility; I send that thought to Gwen, marked urgent. Other reasons begin to worry me…this isn’t really my job; there are Draka commanders designated for this, but all they have been focusing on is attacking the obvious threat. What if…my god, what if this is a diversion, and the real attack is coming from behind us, shielded well?

The thought makes me sit up, and glance over at Gwen. She looks blankly at me for a moment, and then I see that my newest message has made it through. Her face transforms into a snarl of hatred for the Bugs, and she immediately warns the rear echelons to be ready for attack. Is it soon enough? Can they prepare quickly enough? My mind runs over the list of ships in the rear, and one jumps out at me: Ariadne and May’s ship, the Star Burner. God, keep the girls safe, I think, and then I’m overwhelmed with order routing and prioritizing.

The attack flashes through my consciousness; the unshielded ships are attacking with a suicidal fury, and making hits despite our best efforts to knock them out of the way. Emergency orders and calls for assistance flood through my transducer, and I put the salvage and rescue teams into action. Then it happens. The rear echelon is overwhelmed by a mass of shielded Bug ships, and complete chaos rules for long moments. Gwen and the ranking Samothracian commander work desperately to control the battle, but for a few minutes, it’s everybody for himself. Ships that had been in defensive formation, ready to combine their power to defeat the enemy, are scattered and picked off by the attackers.

The Star Burner is one of the largest and heavily armed ships remaining and I know what Gwen’s going to do, before she does it. The ship is ordered to attack, and attack as hard as it possibly can. The voice of the commander is hard but shows no fear as she replies, “Glory to the Race!” The ship is committed, and instantly becomes a major target for all the surviving Bug attackers. I wince, not wanting to watch, knowing that it was the only thing to do, but still…it seems so wasteful. So suicidal. And my babies are on it…

They’re not babies, they’re fighting women, and they knew the risks when they joined, the tiny voice in my mind whispers. Get over it, and pay attention to your duties. It’s not under your control, anyhow. I focus on the relaying of orders, and sending help for the Star Burner from the survivors of the frontal assault. If they can just get there in time…

The ship blinks out of existence, torn into component atoms by a massed group of energy pulse shots from the Bug ships. It was there, the commander was requesting backup, Gwen was in the midst of telling her that it was on the way, and then…a silent explosion, and 120 lives are snuffed out. My stomach feels like a bucket of ice has just been poured into it, and my eyes tear up. 

Gwen…oh, Gwen…Ariadne, May…tell me it’s not true, please, Muhmis…

Focus on your duties, Adjutant, for now. I don’t have time for personal messages. You should know better. Gwen’s voice in my head is cold and firm; I shiver under her reprimand, and silently bow my head, knowing better than to reply. My heart’s on fire…

Gwen coolly directs the rest of the battle, which turns from a major one to a series of brutal skirmishes, ships annihilating each other, pouncing on one another from around the dark sides of asteroids. Soon, my salvage and rescue teams have all they can handle; I keep Gwen posted on the results in a terse, professional manner. She responds likewise. My soul aches…they’re gone, oh jeezie petes, they’re both gone…

Finally, after five hours, the crisis is declared over. We have lost over 400 personnel, Draka and Samothracian, human, kawtuh…but we have won the battle. The Bug ships that haven’t been destroyed realize that they can’t get back to their molehole, which had been discovered by a Samothracian battle cruiser…I wonder how they managed that, I think to myself; that’s one bit of technology that they haven’t shared with us… The few remaining Bug ships, instead of surrendering, destroy themselves in silent thermonuclear fury. For the first time in hours, my transducer isn’t carrying frantic calls for help or requests for positioning information. There are still survivors out there, and my people are picking them up as fast as they possibly can; we designate one of the outposts on a large asteroid as a triage center, and things begin to move smoothly.

I sit up, rubbing my temples, and feel Emily’s hand on my back. “Oh, Sera Erin, I’m so sorry…I saw what happened…”

I try to say something, anything, and nothing comes out. A tear, traitorously sneaking out of the corner of my eye, trickles down one cheek. My little girls are gone…they were only teenagers, cadets…and they’re gone. No survivors. Oh, hell…

Emily wraps her arms around me, hugging tightly. “Damn the Bugs, damn them to the eternal fires of Hell! Oh, Erin…I’m so sorry, so sorry…” Her voice cracks, and then she’s quietly crying on my shoulder, tears rolling down her fair cheeks. She buries her head next to my neck, and we cling together, the horror of what’s happened tearing me apart inside.

“Adjutant?” Gwen’s voice is cool and distant.

I clear my throat and gently let go of Emily. “Yes, Muhmis?”

“I would like to speak to you in my cabin. Now.”

“How can you be so cold? I mean, I know you’re a Snake, but that was your daughter, and Erin’s daughter that you ordered to their deaths…how can you be so…” Emily’s shaking with anger; I try to shush her, but she ignores me.

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant Richardson. At ease.” A stern command from the ranking Samothracian officer on the bridge brings her up short. Commander Packard, I read on his nametag. He looks furious. “Richardson, apologize immediately to the Archon.”

She hesitates, tears still rolling down her face. I start to speak up, to say that this is her first time in battle, and that we’re all upset, and that everything will be all right, and a searing glare from Muhmis makes my mouth snap shut. I cringe, inside.

“Do it NOW!” His roar echoes on the now-silent bridge. “You have acted in a manner that reflects poorly on Samothrace. I will not tolerate that. Either apologize or consider yourself under arrest.”

The young woman turns to Gwen and snaps to attention. “Forgive my outburst, Archon. I spoke without thinking. I am very sorry.”

A long moment passes, with Gwen holding the girl’s eyes with her own stare. Finally, Emily looks down at her feet, and Gwen murmurs, “That’s fine. Emotions run high after a battle. Which, despite losses, we have won. Commander Packard, please, no disciplinary measures against this young tigress. She’ll learn.”

The commander looks coldly at the young lieutenant, who is studying the deck with intense concentration. “I’ll take your recommendation under advisement, Archon. Thank you.”

Gwen turns back to me. “Adjutant. My cabin, now.”

“Your will, Muhmis.” I slowly get up, wiping my face and follow her down the corridor to her private quarters. My assistants are more than able to take up where I left off, I think, trying unsuccessfully to remain calm. They may be taking up where I left off permanently.

Sitting on the edge of her desk, the Draka who owns me looks me up and down slowly. I take the hint and sink to my knees, hands crossed in front of me, eyes on the floor. She’s angry, I know, and an angry Draka’s not very healthy to be around. I’m shivering despite my best efforts at not showing it.

“What in the Seven Hells did you mean, sending me a personal message in the midst of a major battle?”

“I have no excuse, Muhmis.”

“No, you don’t, but I’d like to know what your reason, if there was any, might be. You must have been aware that I, too, knew the girls had died. I didn’t let it inhibit the execution of my duties.”

“No, Muhmis.”

She stands, to walk over to just in front of me. The slap of her hand across my face comes as a shock, and I reel backward on my heels. “ ‘No, Muhmis’ is not an acceptable answer, wench.”

Blood trickles down across my lip from my nose; it’s stinging, but not broken. I know I must have a handprint on my face, though. She didn’t hold back on that blow; she knows I have the molecular armor now. “Please, Muhmis…I was wrong, very wrong, to send you a personal message. It…the reason I did it, however wrong-headed it was, was that…I just hurt so bad, and I…wanted to feel you, to know that you felt it too…or that maybe I was mistaken, and the ship was okay…” My voice trails off into silence.

Her hand cups my chin, tilting my head backwards, so that I’m forced to look up at her. “If you are going to be my Adjutant, you will refrain from sending personal messages in times of crisis. Never again. Understood?”

I try to nod, but her hand is holding me in a steel-strong vise grip. “Yes, Muhmis,” I whisper.

She lets me go, and I direct my eyes to the floor again. I hear her clear her throat, and out of the corner of my left eye, I can see that she’s walked away, over to the couch on the other side of the compartment. Silence settles down over us.

It’s broken, several minutes later, by a soft gasp. I glance over to her, and see that she’s sitting on the couch, hugging herself, crying silently. What should I do, I wonder…should I go over to her, or should I stay here, or should I leave, to give her privacy? Draka are very, very touchy about showing emotions like grief, I know…

My heart decides for my head. I slowly get up and walk to her; she’s whispering now:

“How many more children must I lose? How many more…oh, Ariadne…”

It makes my heart ache even more than it was before…I gently, ever so gently, hug her to me, her head on my chest, my body shaking with the force of her sobs. I stroke her thick mahogany red hair, and wait for the tears to slow before trying to say anything. It’s too hard to talk around the lump in my throat, anyway… I stand like that, my arms around my grieving Muhmis, for almost an hour.

Finally, the sobs quiet, and she leans into me, her arms coming up around me to caress. “My Erin…”

“Gwen…”

She sits back, and I fetch her some tissues. I kneel by the couch, my punishment of an hour ago still fresh in my mind. She freshens up her face, and then looks deeply into my eyes. Leaf-green meets hazel, and a silent communication is exchanged. I rise, and climb up onto the couch, snuggling against her black-clad, muscular body. Her arms around me, she rocks me a little, her head on top of mine.

“Didn’t enjoy having to discipline you, my wench…”

“I know.”

“But you know I had to…I can’t have personal interruptions during something like that.”

“I know.”

Gwen glances down into my eyes again. “Angry with me? Over the slap, or over losing our daughters?”

“No, and no…you did what you had to do. They knew the risks…” My voice breaks. She hugs me close, caressing, stroking. She asked me if I’m angry? As if it made a difference? My Muhmis asked me if I’m angry?? I file the thought away for further consideration.

“I’m sorry, Erin…so sorry…”

I nod against her chest, unable to speak. 

“Ahh…” She sighs deeply. “We have to get back to work, my sweet. Or should you rest here? I can give you a sedative…”

“No!” The strength in my voice surprises both of us. “No, please, Gwen. I want to stay busy. I want to stay at your side, your Adjutant. I can…handle things. Please, please, don’t make me stay here…”

“You surprise me. Every time I think I know you well, you surprise me. One of the many reasons I…” Gwen pauses. “One of the many reasons I love you, my sweet saafn.” She kisses me, hard and long, on the mouth, and then, standing, helps me to my feet. “It’s back to work then. For both of us.”

**  
“Mother!” I say, as the door of the second aircar swings up.

Yolande is looking a little worn – we all are. Well, at least we’re not losing the war. Not yet.

It’s good to be back on Earth for a while, at my own home place. Good to smell the clean spring air, see blue sky and clouds, scent wildwood and turned earth and my humans. The household staff are kneeling to greet us, and Schalk’s coming forward. We exchange embraces, and with mother.

“It’s good to see you all again,” I say as the staff rise and gather around. “We can’t stay long; just for a little rest.” 

I tell them a little of the news, the details about my own combat that wouldn’t go out on the Web – they’re d’Ingolfssons, after all. The party moves back into the main hall, and turns into a party, of sorts. I attack the buffet of refreshments, suddenly ravenous again. Combat stress has delayed effects. This years’ hams are absolutely delicious, and the beaten biscuit is even better than I remember.

Shawonda is by Erin, asking her if she’s really all right; so’s Jennifer. Alice is hanging back a little.

“Yes, she is all right,” I say, putting an arm around Erin’s shoulders for a moment. “Saved my life, too.”

Yolande comes over, brushing crumbs off her fingers. “Congratulations, Erin d’Ingolfsson,” she says. “I’d have missed my favorite daughter.”

Erin blushes fiercely. I tousle her hair and smile. Still shy in some ways, even after all these years.

“And you’re going to be a grandmother again, thanks to Schalk and I,” I say.

Yolande laughs delightedly, the fine-boned elfin features crinkling. “Good. Babies are one of life’s greater pleasures,” she says. “Who’s the lucky brooder – ah, her, your meditech.”

The Draka here all flare their nostrils slightly, taking the ripe pleasant scent. Shawonda smiles, a bit uncertain but determined. “She’ll make an excellent tantie-ma,” I say. “We’re planning on seeding her this afternoon, eh, Schalk?”

Shawonda can’t blush, but I can see the patterns of heat on her skin; the pheromones, and expectation, are getting to her. My lips curl back from my teeth in a slight growl of anticipation, and she grins.

“One of life’s other greater pleasures,” Yolande says. “Speaking of which…”

“My house is yours, of course, mother,” I say.

“Hmmmm… I think I’ll ride that pony, then,” she says, nodding at Alice. “And as contrast –”

She scoops Alice over one shoulder, then Jennifer over the other and walks away towards the stairs and her guest room. Jennifer waves back at me; Alice is looking a little surprised. Bawdy good wishes rise from the household staff; I smile indulgently. Yolande is still exulting in her new abilities as a drakensis. 

***  
Hours later I wake from my nap. Erin is curled up not far away, fast asleep; so is Schalk. Shawonda is sitting up against a cushion, arms around her knees, lost in thought.

Feeling well-seeded? I say to her through her transducer, and take her scent. No change yet, but I can imagine how the sharp, slightly musky signature-scent will mellow as she bears our child.

She starts a little. I certainly am, she replies; I catch the overtones of sated exhaustion. Ridden to a frazzle, sore in places… and a little… strange. She touches her stomach. 

You’ll get more comfortable with it, I say.

I know – I’ve watched the process as a meditech, she says. It’ll be interesting to feel that euphoria myself. An impish smile. And you were right – Erin is all better. Whatever those combat hormones you put her on do, they certainly don’t inhibit libido.

Quite the contrary, I say. 

And muhmas Schalk – gevalt, as Jennifer would say. I’ve been mounted by male drakensis before and it’s always a little alarming, but never like that!

The transplanted ova does… itch… until the male implants it in the brooder, I say. Itches madly, in fact; it ups the urgency factor. I think the biotech who did the details was female, and had a sense of humor. Now get some rest. I’m feeling a little restless, I’ll be back later...

I pad out of the bedroom and into the baths, stand for a minute under the blessed hot water – full facilities are one of the many things lacking even on a dreadnought, in space – and send a delicate tendril out. Yolande accepts the call; last time there was only a brief intense visual (Alice will be sore for a while too) and a privacy barrier. This time I see through her eyes that she’s sitting on the balcony of her suite, lying back in a lounger and watching the clouds through the branches of the wisteria overhead.

Hello, Gwen, she says, stretching. I catch an overtone of alert contentment. I’m still getting used to this body’s…mmmm…. capacities.

Give the biotechs credit, I grin. I can feel the slight pressure as she looks through my eyes. 

Erin as well as the brooder? she says. My, you were in space a long time!

Oh, Erin was there too, I say. 

She must be something special.

Best mount I’ve ever had, I say. Smart, capable, brave, too. Extremely loyal. And I’m… extremely fond of her.

Yolande hesitates. Daughter… it can be bad for both, if one of us gets too fond of one of them, she says.

Mother, I’m four hundred odd years old, I say. I think I can handle my relationships with my serfs.

You’ve got four hundred years of experience with dominating servus, she says, a little acerbically. I have at least as much experience with humans as you – I was a human in my first, mmmm, incarnation.

I’ve owned Erin since before the Conquest, I say. But she’s not just a human, she’s… well, Erin. Quite special. Breaking her to my will was… about the most intense pleasure I’ve ever had. The transducer communicates an emotion humans wouldn’t have any words for; a combination of tenderness and hunger, eating but never quite satisfied. I remember that morning by the lake, and feel a rush of deep affection; the memory never fails to move me. So has been getting to know her more and more deeply over the years since. I hesitate, but if you can’t talk to your mother, who can you confide in? In fact, it would be honest to say that I love her, in a way.

Oh, Gwen. It’ll end badly! She can’t respond fully to you – human emotions aren’t designed quite right!

I suppress irritation. Mother, everything in life is a risk. I know there’s a risk involved in this, and it’s one I’m prepared to take.

A sigh, and Yolande breaks contact. I sink into the tub, looking up at the mosaic rosettes that cover the ceiling. Perhaps she’s right… but I can’t do otherwise than what I am.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
**  
Here it is, only two months after the Bug War, and I’m visiting Prime Line’s Samothrace. This is so odd, I think, looking around as we’re escorted to the broadcasting lounge. An interview, live…this will be damned interesting. I hope they stick by their agreement to steer clear of the obvious political questions. 

I watch as Patrick and Alexandra take their places in the audience. He’s managed to get them good seats, and look who’s next to him…Emily Richardson…newly promoted lieutenant in the Samothracian Naval forces, beaming with excitement. Maybe something more, the quiet voice in my mind whispers. Looks like love to me. Patrick’s been sending glances galore her way, and she’s been demurely avoiding staring back at him.

He is quite the picture, in his dark grey and black Navigator’s uniform; the blue and gold tabs on collar and cuff mark him as Ingolfsson property, but they also make a pleasing contrast between his green eyes and black hair. Much taller than I am, probably almost six feet tall, and slender. Peter would be proud, I think.

“Um, Sera Erin d’Ingolfsson, please, sit here in the black chair. Thanks.” The aide hurriedly seats me, and scurries off, burbling commands and questions to various and sundry staffers. The lights for the audience dim, and the stage lights brighten a bit. It’s not like being interviewed at home, I realize, since it’s not hot and stuffy under baby spots. These lights do a better job of illuminating, rather than sweating, their subjects.

The interviewers come in and sit in a semi-circle around me; I’m at the apex. Wearing my black Janissary uniform with the rank of Adjutant on the gold collar tab, the glittering red Drakon on the blue one, I shift a bit nervously in the chair. At least the chair’s comfortable, I say to myself. The interview may not be. I just want to get this over with as soon as possible, and get back…home. Home, where I belong. Home, where I’m not so much of an oddity…although that’s becoming less and less true as I receive various modifications. Oh, well…home is where the heart is, I guess.

There are two interviewers on each side of me; two males and two females. One’s in uniform; the rest in civilian clothes. They shuffle notes, talk quietly to each other, and avoid meeting my eyes. I put my best “friendly” smile on, and wait. The host of the interview show walks up and stands in the curve of the table, hands behind him. He clears his throat, and waits for the others to stop talking.

“Fellow journalists, I must remind you of the agreement our government has made with the Domination of the Draka in allowing this interview at all. First, no directly political questions. Second, no anti-Draka slogans or slurs are to be used. Third, Sera d’Ingolfsson may choose to not answer any question asked of her, and I would ask that the other interviewers move us past any such…inconvenient…moments with skill and speed. Questions from the audience will not be taken tonight,” the man continues, and turns around so the audience can see him.

“Questions from the audience will not,” he repeats firmly, “be taken tonight. If an audience member attempts to disrupt this interview, our security personnel have instructions to encourage the person to cease and desist immediately. We will be polite, my friends. This is an historic occasion, and one that is dedicated to the memories of those brave souls fallen in battle against our common enemy, the insectoid creatures who attacked us.”

“Are there any questions before we begin?” The host turns back to us, and looks everyone in the eye briefly. “No? Good. Let’s begin. Citizens, welcome to another Central News Interview. This one is a truly historic occasion, and tonight we welcome Sera Erin Kane d’Ingolfsson, Prime Councilor to the Planetary Archon of Earth/2 and Adjutant of Janissary Forces during the recent interstellar war. Our interviewers, going from my left to my right, are: Commander David Packard, Mrs. June Robertson, Dr. Paul Shore, and Dr. Lucy Green. Their credentials appear below each of them for the audience. I, of course, am Harold Noble, host of the Central News Interview series.”

The audience claps politely, and each interviewer nods or smiles as their name is mentioned. I’ve kept my “friendly” smile on, and nod slightly as my name and rank are droned out. The host smiles whitely. He waves a hand regally at the table in general and says:

“Let the questions begin, and truth will out.”

The first interviewer to speak is Dr. Green. She clears her throat loudly, enough to make me jump a wee bit, and launches into her question:

“Sera d’Ingolfsson,” (I never realized how much venom could go into the way that name’s said, I think, and let my smile broaden just a bit.) “Is it true that the Draka actually encourage certain humans to emigrate to Samothrace, or is it merely a political whim of your owner?”

I look over to the host, who’s seated nearby. Contrary to what he just said about no political questions, he smiles amiably at me, then steeples his fingers as though seriously thinking deep thoughts about the question I’ve just been asked. 

You don’t have to answer that, Sera, says a cool voice through my transducer. The Draka Merarch, sitting well off-stage, is looking calmly at me, and waiting for my reply.

It’s fine…thank you, Uhmis Norton, I send back, and then reply vocally to the audience and the waiting interviewer: “It’s true that the Domination of the Draka is allowing quite a few humans from several different universes to emigrate to your lovely world.”

“But is it merely a ploy, something to get attention away from the demands being made at the negotiation table?”

“I’m merely a Prime Councilor; I’m not privy to the decisions made by the Draka negotiation teams. How about if we switch to something a little less, well, political? I’m here, actually, as part of a delegation to honor the casualties of the recent unpleasantness.”

“Where Draka and Samothracian units actually fought on the same side, and managed to defeat a much larger enemy force,” intones Commander Packard.

“Yes, Draka, Samothracian and human forces. Despite our losses, we were victorious and are currently still working together to discover the home planet of the Bugs, and make sure we don’t get another infestation of them.” I look over to the man, and he nods gravely.

Dr. Shore speaks up. “Humans who are…owned…by Draka masters.”

“Well, yes, that’s the way the Domination works. Luckily, the three forces combined worked well enough to defeat a truly, sincerely, nasty bunch of critters.” The audience murmurs a little at that, and I wonder why. The voice in my transducer speaks up:

Don’t let them bait you. Plus, using terminology like ‘critters’ is giving the Samothracian translators fits. Keep doing that, if you like. A mental image of a smile comes through at the end. I nod slightly.

“Isn’t it true, Sera d’Ingolfsson, that even now, you’re being monitored by Draka security forces, ready to step in and stop the interview should you say anything…controversial?” Dr. Green taps her stylus on her notes for emphasis.

Lady, you’ve got a serious pickle up your butt about something, I think to myself. Outwardly, I turn to her and grin. “The Draka security forces are here for my protection, actually, and I’m not here to say anything terribly controversial. I’d like to talk about how thankful we humans are for the help provided recently by both the Domination and the Samothracian Republic. If not for the help we received from both parties, we’d be history.”

“Is it true that your daughter was killed during the conflict?” Mrs. Robertson murmurs.

“Yes. My daughter May d’Ingolfsson was one of the conflict’s fatalities.” My voice turns rough for a moment, and my vision tears up. With a mental shrug, I try to turn off the memories that come flooding through. I know my face has blushed, though, and wish I could control that better. Too late, now.

“And the child you…bore…for your owner, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, Planetary Archon of Earth/2, she was killed as well?”

“Yes, Mrs. Robertson. Ariadne Ingolfsson was an ensign, a tetrarch, on board one of the Domination’s cruisers, and my daughter was her personal saafn, as well as being a Navigator-in-training. The ship was destroyed with all hands lost. 120 dead.”

“And is it also true that your owner, who was in command at the time of their deaths, sent them knowingly to their demise?” Dr. Green pounces yet again.

I turn to stare at her, meeting a blank wall behind her brown eyes. “My Muhmis was in command at the time, yes, and sent many people into harm’s way, to save the universe we were in, as well as this one. She lost a daughter, too. Anyone who’s a mother can understand how horrid it is to lose a child so suddenly, but anyone alive now should be able to understand the why’s and wherefore’s of the sacrifice so many made.”

Dr. Green wrinkles her nose slightly. “But don’t you feel that your…what’d you call her, your Muhmis, has some personal responsibility for your daughter’s death?”

“She didn’t kill them. The Bugs killed them. And I cheered out loud when my daughter’s ship took out the Bug ship that hit them when it went critical.” My voice has hardened, and I feel my pulse throbbing. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Next question?”

“If given the chance, would you emigrate here?” Dr. Shore asks, eyebrows raised.

Oh, hell. I was hoping this one wouldn’t get asked. Mr. Host over there isn’t raising a hand to intervene, either. Shit. I lean back in my chair, and steeple my hands under my chin. “That’s an interesting question, Dr. Shore. But it’s not one I feel I want to answer.”

Good answer, Merarch Norton says quietly inside my head. Do you want me to stop the interview? Is this becoming too painful? You’re doing a good job, Erin.

No, for God’s sake, don’t stop the interview unless I do something really stupid, Merarch. Please. That’s what they’re waiting for.

Commander Packard leans forward. “Do you see the negotiations between the Draka and our government continuing, despite pressure from conservative groups in both to cease?”

“I certainly hope the negotiations continue, Commander. With peace between us, we can both look forward to years of exploration, rather than the continuing waste of lives and resources on a war neither side can truly win.”

“That’s your opinion, of course,” Doctor Shore interjects.

“Of course. My opinion. It’s my opinion that far too many lives have been lost already to skirmishes between the Draka and the Samothracians, when they could have been doing something constructive, like exploring and terraforming.” I smile, thinking of May’s last leave, when she and I had spent time talking about her plans for the future. Gone, now…

“Is it true your son’s here in the audience, Sera d’Ingolfsson?” Mrs. Robertson asks brightly.

I nod. “Yes, he and his Muhmis, who’s a tetrarch. He’s a Navigator, and her personal assistant. I’m quite proud of him.”

“So he’s with his…owner?” I nod again. “Doesn’t that bother you, as a mother, to have to give up your children to the Draka?” Mrs. Robertson’s voice has taken on a strident tone, missing before, and I give her a long, steady look. Her eyes have wrinkles by them, bags, actually, and there’s a light in those eyes that gives me warning.

“No mother likes to see her children leave home, but eventually every child does. The relative merits of our very different societies are not up for discussion tonight, nor am I an expert on the subject.” I smile as I say this, but stare directly at her. “I’m proud of my children, and of my Muhmis’ children, as well. I raised them, after all.”

Watch that one, Merarch Norton says. She’s not tightly battened down.

You have that right, Merarch, I send back. We’d say, a few bats loose in the belfry.

Oh, I like that one, Merarch Norton replies instantly. Have to remember it.

I reach out and take a sip of water from the glass in front of me on the table. “I was very moved by the impressive dedication ceremony today, I must say.”

“We’ve had quite a bit of practice, dedicating monuments to the sacrifices made by our young people, fighting for freedom.” Dr. Green says icily.

“Hmm…true. So have my people, actually. You should visit Earth/2 some time, and view some of the monuments. Bravery isn’t limited to one race or another.” I take another sip. “Courtesy, on the other hand…”

Careful, now…Merarch Norton chides gently. Don’t let them get you riled.

“I am surprised at your lack of…concern…for your children.” Mrs. Richardson goes back to her axe, grinding away busily.

“Sera d’Ingolfsson has already discussed that issue, Mrs. Richardson. I suggest that perhaps we discuss something else, entirely.” Commander Packard looks her eye to eye, and she backs down, slowly. He turns to me, and continues: “Do you see the technology exchange program continuing?”

“Yes, I hope so. It helped immeasurably during the war, for all three allies combined. I think it could continue working, given that the negotiations don’t run into a roadblock. It could boost our exploration efforts immensely.” I smile at him, thankful for the detour.

“Are the Draka happy with having Samothracian ambassadors on their conquered planets?” asks Dr. Shore.

“Just as happy as the Samothracians are, I’m sure, in hosting Draka ambassadors on Samothracian territories. Happy is as happy does, as a wise person once said. If we continue to work together, and avoid unpleasantness, then we should be able to at least tolerate each other’s presence.”

“Do you think the Draka actually tolerate us, or is it merely…”

“Please, Dr. Shore, I can’t answer such high policy questions. I really can’t. I’d rather talk about the student exchange program we’ve set up, between Samothracian and Draka training academies, and how successful that program has been.”

“Isn’t that one of your own initiatives as Prime Councilor, Sera d’Ingolfsson?” He pipes up.

“Yes, one of them. I try to work as hard as I can to establish ways of communicating between our very different groups, and the exchange program has been an excellent way to develop that. So far, we’ve had over 200 Samothracian university and academy students visit Draka universities and academies. We’ve also had, I think, 139 Draka and 23 human students visiting your institutions of higher education.”

“Why so few humans?” He looks at me, and smiles toothily.

“Well…for one, not many have met the stringent requirements as far as grades and physical standards go. For another, we’ve had some recruiting problems. Seems our human young’uns want to go off terraforming more than they want to attend more classes. Something appealing about the great unknown, I reckon.” I grin, and lean back in the chair. “Can’t keep them down on the farm, that’s for sure.”

Commander Packard laughs, a hearty chuckle. “Sounds familiar, that does. But I’ve heard good reports about the student exchanges. Isn’t it true there’s been very little…defection…among the humans who have come here on the program?”

“Yes. Another point of stability in our relations, I think. Those who want to emigrate are usually allowed to leave, after going through a screening process. But the students who go on the exchange program look forward to going home again, too.”

“Well, well, well…this has been a truly interesting, historic interview. I’d like to thank all the participants, especially Sera Erin d’Ingolfsson, for their commentary. I think we’ve all learned more about each other and how things work on both sides, tonight, and I’m sure we’ll be able to have more of these in the future. This is your host, Harold Noble, thanking you and as always, wishing you success fighting the good fight.” He seems to have jumped up out of nowhere, and I’m surprised when he curtly motions that the interview is over.

“Thank you, Sera d’Ingolfsson, for a most…illuminating…interview.” Noble’s handshake is like a dead fish…it seems to slither out of my hand. I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my pants’ leg afterwards. Must be polite, must be…god, I’ll never be a politician. Ever. Get me home, please!

The other interviewers each come up to me to say something nice, as the cameras, floating in midair, cover us and the audience. Green just sort of looks at me, and walks away, leaving my hand stuck out in space all by itself, and Mrs. Robertson isn’t much better. Dr. Shore shakes my hand, looking at me in a searching manner, before walking off to join the cabal of the two women.

Commander Packard waits until the last. He walks up to me, and pushes his notepad along the table, seemingly unconsciously. As he stands in front of me, his eyes catch mine, and then meaningfully drop to the notepad. On it, I read:

If you want to defect, now’s your chance. Say the word, nod, and I can have your transducer unhooked from the Domination’s network immediately. Just nod. You can be free—you’re a thinker and someone we could use in our organization.

Oh, my god. This is a chance, a chance for freedom…but can I do it? What about Patrick and Alexandra, Alois…he’s waiting for me, back on Earth/2…Gwen…Schalk…my human friends. I’d have to leave them all, permanently. Trust the Samothracians? How can I, after what I’ve been through with them? I realize Commander Packard is talking, covering my momentary paralysis.

“I certainly enjoyed your comments, and how you kept your cool during the interview. You were pretty calm under fire, Sera d’Ingolfsson…I’m impressed.”

“Ah…um, thank you. It comes with…practice.” I look him directly in the eyes, and wait for my subconscious, my intuition, to kick out an answer for his proposal, since my upper faculties seem to be frozen.

“Yes, it does…you handled things quite well. Do you do a lot of public appearances on Earth/2?”

He’s waiting, giving me the chance. My god, I’ve been a serf, with no rights at all for over two decades, and now I can’t decide… no. I’ve decided. My heart’s decided.

“No, Commander. No. That’s something I don’t like to do.” I smile at him and slowly shake my head from side to side. His eyes widen a bit, and he raises an eyebrow. I still shake my head no, almost imperceptibly. No, I can’t do it. I can’t leave everyone, everything behind.

Gwen trusted me enough to allow this public appearance. She trusted me enough to come here. I can’t let her down, even though it means I’ll stay a serf for years longer. I can’t leave those I love. I can’t go back on my own word. I can’t… and it breaks my heart, another crack in something that’s already been broken. Too many cracks, recently, with Alice divorcing me, and then Ariadne and May being killed… my eyes mist over, and my voice shakes.

“No…I hope this is the last time I ever have to make speeches concerning the honored dead. I hate making speeches anyway, and I don’t want to lose anyone else the way I lost my two girls. You understand, Commander, don’t you? I can’t lose my other loves—my children, my friends, my lovers. Life’s too short for this, don’t you think?”

“I understand, Sera d’Ingolfsson. Believe me, I understand. We all have decisions to make, and choices. Thanks for your time and for your honesty. And here comes a Merarch, and this must be Tetrarch Ingolfsson, and your son, Patrick, right?”

I turn to see the two Draka and Patrick walking towards us on the stage. Emily Richardson’s not far behind, talking with some other Samothracians but keeping a weather eye out for Patrick’s whereabouts. “Yes, sir, may I introduce Merarch Norton, Tetrarch Ingolfsson, and Ser Patrick d’Ingolfsson?”

“Glad to meet you,” Commander Packard says, smoothly folding up his notepad and depositing the credit-card sized device in a pocket of his uniform. “He has your eyes, Sera.”

“Yes, my eyes, and his father’s good looks,” I say fondly. Patrick blushes and looks away, old enough to be embarrassed by his old mother. Alexandra laughs softly. 

“His mother’s blush, too…”

“Well, you should be very proud of your mother, young man,” Packard says slowly. Patrick looks over to the Samothracian, some puzzlement on his face. “I know parents can seem like the most boring creatures God ever made in his great wisdom, but they make sacrifices for you that you’ll never know. Treat her well, son.”

Saluting the Merarch, and receiving salutes from the three standing before me, he gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder and walks away rapidly, shoulders high, firm of step.

“What was all that about?” Alexandra asks curiously.

“I think perhaps he and I identified about something,” I reply, sitting down in the chair nearest me. “He’s the only one who asked questions that weren’t loaded for bear…”

“You did a great job, Ma,” Patrick says enthusiastically. “You were so cool and calm about everything, and when you…what’s wrong? Ma? Hey, Ma…”

My shoulders shake uncontrollably while tears trickle hotly down my face. I put my head in my hands, and sit quietly for a moment. No one says anything, and no one invades my mental space with transducer messages, either, something I’m very grateful for. After several minutes, I sit back up and wipe my face quickly, ashamed of the tear tracks.

“Maybe I’m just tired…maybe it’s thinking about May and Ariadne…I’d really like to get back to the ship, now, if y’all don’t mind. Of course, if you want to go out and dance tonight, or whatever, that’s fine with me…just don’t dance Merarch Norton’s legs off…”

Norton laughs, resting her hand on the back of my neck. “I think you are tired, if you think these two pups can out dance me.”

“I’m tired…” I whisper. “I want to go home.”

“Home tomorrow, with a hero’s welcome awaiting you. The Archonate sends their approval, my wench. You’ve done very well, and should be proud. Your Muhmis is certainly proud of you. She’s a lucky woman, to have obtained you…” The Merarch helps me stand up, unobtrusively, with an arm around my waist. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the ship, where you can rest up. I’m sure your Muhmis would like to talk with you, too. Then I’ll catch up with these babes in the woods, and we’ll see what fun we can have in this…place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Patrick says. He leans over and kisses me on the cheek, loudly. “I’m sure proud of you, Ma. Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, some rest would be good for you. We’ll be at the Exchange Bar, Merarch, if you want to join us. That’s where a bunch of us are going. Love you, Tantie-ma,” Alexandra says, tenderly, and gives me a kiss, too. I stroke my hands down the youngsters’ faces, slowly.

“Be sweet, now, and don’t get into trouble. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Aw, Ma…” I get, in chorus. I laugh, and watch as they hurry off the stage, heading toward the exit and a fun evening. Then I turn to Merarch Norton, who’s still holding me around the waist gently.

She smiles down at me, bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair in a braided club like Gwen wears. Did they do what I think they did—make you an offer?

Yes. And I said no. But you probably knew that, already. “Take me to the ship, would you, Merarch?”

“Certainly, honored saafn…my pleasure.” Silently, through my transducer, overlaid with a gentle smiling image of herself: Yes, I knew. The Merarch takes my hand in hers, and we walk through the corridors leading to the landing pads nearby, and the safety of a Draka Warbird. And some rest for me.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

**  
I stand by the tree-shaded cemetery, holding a vase of flowers in each hand. They’re mums, and will last a long time here, I think. Red ones for Ari, orange ones for my May. The markers are marble with platinum inlays, tastefully done, listing names, dates, and a one-sentence inscription for each. I kneel before Ariadne’s, and gently put the vase next to the headstone. “Well hast thou fought…” But you’re gone, now, my sweet, my little one…

I move to the other gravesite; empty graves, these, merely markers for us survivors to pin our grief on. Their bodies were never recovered, of course; there wasn’t much of anything to recover after the ship went away, in a ball of atomic fire. Went away… Oh, May, you were just a kid, you were so young, and bright, and eager… Did I give you enough attention? Was I there for you? Were you happy, with your life, your career, your loves? I sit down, next to the carefully tended grass mound, and sit the vase next to me. My eyes are blinded by tears, but I know what her inscription says, by heart: “Second star from the right, and straight on ‘til morning…”

The world seems a grey place, an empty one. I am unaging, I whisper to myself. How does Gwen, or any of them, stand this? This loss? I’m not sure I can… Above, the wind whispers softly through the trees, birch, elm, willow…a redwing blackbird perches on a branch above me, singing his chirring song into the morning, and I sit below, lost in my pain. Anger boils slowly, beneath the surface…

“Tantie-ma?”

I look up into Alexandra’s face, seeing the concern, the caring etched there. Wiping my face off hurriedly, I stand, and make a short bow, as custom would have done. She stops me short, and enfolds me in a bear hug, her strong arms around my shoulders and waist. “Oh, Tantie-ma…”

“I’m sorry, Alexa…I’ve tried to hold things together now for months…two months…” The sobs shake me, and I’m vexed with myself. Get a grip, they’re gone, all the crying in the world ain’t bringin’ them back, girl, I say silently to myself. I step back away from the young Draka pilot officer, and look her over. Her black uniform is impeccable; her boots shine, her rank badges glitter. But I could lose you, too, oh, god… I turn away, holding my hands in front of my face.

“Erin…Tantie-ma, please…at least let me hold you…I…” Her voice trails off. In a whisper: “I hurt, too.”

That gets me between the shoulder blades. I turn back round, and hold out my arms to her. We meet halfway, and sink to the ground between the two gravesites, in tears but together. I hold her for long, long moments, while she lets out the grief of losing her favorite kid sister. I don’t hold my tears back, either. After awhile, we both slow down, and a companionable silence settles over us. The birds are singing, the wind gently moving the branches above our heads, the sun casting shadows through the branches… it’s quiet here, a place to rest, and remember.

“I’m sorry, Alexandra…I wish I could have been in Ari’s place, instead. But…”

She nods against my shoulder. “I know. I know. They did their duty, both of them, Tantie-ma. For the Race.”

“Races,” I correct. “More than one involved, this time around.”

Alexandra stiffens a little under my arm; apparently I’ve hit a nerve. “More Draka died than Samothracian, Erin. Common knowledge.”

“Listen, honey, too many of any of the multiple races in this alliance, this agreement force, died. Too damn many. And I’ll tell you something else, my sweet.” I pause, trying to word it nicely. “When you die, it doesn’t matter anymore whether you were a kawtuh, a servus, a human, a Draka, or a Samothracian. You’re gone. That’s it.”

“But we lost so many, Tantie-ma…so many, of our…I mean, my…Race…” Alexandra’s face flushes a little at her slip of tongue. God above, I think, now I’ve been called a Draka by a Draka, in a manner of speaking, and I’ve already been called a Draka by a Samothracian…remembering Emily’s comment on the bridge. And Alice thinks I’m as cold as one… I shiver.

“Darlin’, oh, sweet…I know.” I hold her close, feeling muscles like steel warm beneath my hands. Her mahogany hair is the same deep tint as her mother’s, only fitting, of course, since she’s a clone, but it’s still heart-stopping beautiful. I stroke some of it back from her forehead gently. “Don’t turn any of this pain into hate, child. It’s not worth it. Don’t hate the Samos, or anyone else on our side, for not dying more than the Draka did…”

“But…”

I sigh. “Yes, I know. It’s satisfying. I understand, more than you might believe or think. I’ve been through so many changes here recent-like, that sometimes I wonder, but this I understand.”

She sits up straight, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I heard about the combat biomods they gave you—subcutaneous molecular armor, reflexes, hormones…why, Tantie-ma, you might be able to wrestle more than a minute with me…” The girl tries to grin, bravely. Tear tracks still mark their way down her tanned, aristocratic face.

“I…I don’t know about all this, Alexa…”

“About what?” She sounds confused.

“These changes.”

“But…you should be honored to have them. I mean, you’re the first unaging human, and now this…they’re allowing it for more command-level janissaries, too, did you hear? Why would this bother you? It’s a reward, it’s a way to ensure you can do the best job for Ma that you can…”

“You’re trying very hard, and thank you very much, but it’s not all that reassuring. I used to be a plain ole happy human. Then I became the only human in this or any other known universe that doesn’t age anymore. Now I’m some sort of hybrid something-or-other, and I have Draka hinting that I’m Draka, Samos joking about me being a Draka, and a human ex-wife who thinks I am a Draka, period.” The anger shows through in my voice, despite my best attempts to conceal it.

“Alice doesn’t…but…” Alexandra stops, considering. “You sound really angry about this. Have you talked with Ma about it? I know you two talk a lot…about everything. That’s the way Patrick and I are, too. He’s wonderful…my best friend, actually.”

“That’s good. Don’t lose that, kiddo. And don’t worry—I’ve talked a little to her. Sorry. I won’t dump on you, Alexa. Sorry.” I stand up abruptly. She stands up too, and turns me to face her.

“No, I want you to be able to talk about this. It’s not good for…I mean, they train us to let…um… well, you know… you should let it out, and I should listen, and guide… um…you.”

“Darlin’…” I smile, wearily. “I’ve read that lecture about human saafn management. You are being a sweet girl, but I don’t need guidance about this. Thanks. I mean that, I’m not being sarcastic. I just need…time. Time to get used to everything. If I ever can…”

“Please, Tantie-ma, talk with Ma…she’ll understand. Probably a lot better than I would, although I’ll be there for you if you ever need someone to talk with. Okay? Please talk with her. You need to.”

I rub my temples, fighting off an incipient headache of massive proportions. “Thanks. I’ll take your advice.” I look down at the markers and sigh softly.

Alexandra takes a lock of my hair and curls it around her finger, a gesture she’s kept from babyhood, and one that’s unerringly like her mother’s own touch. “Listen, are you mad…about Ma’s command decision?”

“Did she send you to find out?” The words are out before I think about them.

Leaf-green eyes stare directly down into my hazel ones. “Gods above…no!” The edge in her voice hints at anger, carefully kept under control for now. She waits a moment, and goes on:

“Is that it? That’s what you’re mad about?”

“Hellfire.” I turn away, crossing my arms defensively. “No…I understand all about command decisions.”

“Erin, she had to…there was no other vessel big enough…or near enough…”

“I know! I know! I was there, remember? You weren’t—you were on an asteroid base, as a reserve. I was there…I saw it, all of it…and couldn’t do a god-damned thing about any of it…” My fists have balled of their own accord, and I take a vicious punch at a nearby elm tree, making it shake as my blow hammers home.

“Erin! Erin! Calm down, now! Hey!” The alarm in her voice is sincere, and the Command tone is unmistakable.

“Calm down? I am calm! You think this is upset? None of y’all has ever seen me throw a hissy fit. You’re too young to remember when I lost Peter…you wanna see upset?” I scream, ripping into the tree with a flurry of blows. The hormones sing through me like the call of the Valkyres, and redness tinges my vision. “You wanna see fucking upset?”

There’s motion behind me, and then a clear, cool voice cuts through my haze of rage: “Erin Kane d’Ingolfsson, it’s never wise for a human to shout at a Draka.”

I turn to see Yolande standing next to Alexandra; Alexa’s mouth is slightly open and her arm is being held down by Yolande’s slim hand. The look on Alexa’s face is almost comical, I think; she’s never seen a human about to go ballistic. Or berserk. The look in her grandmother’s eyes, though, is far less amusing.

I drop my eyes, and let my hands fall to my sides. Slowly, I sink to the leaf-and-bark strewn grass, crunching some small branches under me as I kneel. My hands go up to my eyes, covering them, and I bow low, almost touching the ground in front of the two Draka. I try to regulate my breathing, but it’s pretty difficult at first. Over the space of several long moments, though, I slow it down, and become quiet. Long hours of training, meditation, come in handy, especially now, with the rage hormones singing in my ears.

“Alexandra, Erin’s just a little…stressed,” Yolande quietly says to the young officer. “Perhaps if you left her with me for a few moments, we could…straighten this out.”

“Oh.” A long pause. “Excuse me, please, Grandmother, Elder of the Race.”

“Fine. Now, why don’t you run along back to the House, and give this wench and myself a little time to…talk things out. Hmm?” Yolande walks over to the low stone wall and sits on it, one foot tapping against the limestone blocks.

“As you wish, Grandmother,” Alexandra answers. Briefly, encrypted, she blurts over her transducer on one of the lesser-used combat channels: Be careful, Erin, please. Don’t still be angry…okay? Then she’s gone, walking through the golden afternoon sun, motes and flecks of dust glittering in the air as she goes.

“Come, sit down here, where I can look you in the eyes, wench of my daughter.” Yolande’s voice holds a hint of dry humor, and I quickly move over next to the wall, sit down and then look up into her face. It’s shaded by the fall of white-blonde hair over her eyes. Her bright blue eyes glint, though; waiting. Observing. Deciding. 

**  
A black cat with white paws runs along the wall, looking very busy and purposeful. It stops short, seeing the two of us there, and sits down. “Mice?” it asks, preening its whiskers with a paw.

“No, sorry, all out,” I murmur, and Yolande chuckles as she reaches out and strokes the tom’s back. It arches, purring loudly and kneads softly on her thigh.

“Cats, even the talking ones, still like me,” Yolande says, half to herself. “I always adored them.”

I wait, quietly. The sounds of a busy farm occasionally reach my ears: cows lowing, shouts of field workers coming into the village, the squeak of a cart as it goes by on the track, on the other side of the trees. Bees buzz nearby, and a meadowlark experiments with its song.

“I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you, anyway, Erin, to see how well you were…adjusting. I can understand some of what you’ve been through. But I just had to intervene…shouting at a Draka. I thought you were brighter than that.”

The sun is setting behind me, lighting her face with crimson. I clear my throat, still uncertain if she wishes me to speak.

“Speak freely, wench of my daughter. Let’s have it out. What are you so gods-damned upset about?”

Gwen often gives me permission in mixed company to speak freely, and expects it as a matter of course when we’re alone. But this is Yolande, and deep down inside, I am frightened of her. Of who she used to be, my mind corrects. She’s been cured now. Yeah, right. I mentally shrug. “Um…Uhmis Yolande, do you really want to know, or would you just like me to apologize and be done with it?”

She moves suddenly, shifting down onto the grass next to me, kneeling before me. Her hands hold my face still, and her eyes look deeply into mine. “Don’t toy with me, Erin. I want to know. And I said speak freely, not insolently.”

The cat decides to move elsewhere. I wish I could go with him, I think. For several heartbeats, Yolande and I lock stares, until I finally drop my eyes and look down. “Sorry, Uhmis.”

She waits. Gathering my wits as well as my courage, I start: “I’m upset for several reasons. However, that’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m just stressed, as you said.”

Yolande sighs and leans back, resting on her hands. She shakes the hair from her face with a toss of her head, and smiles. “Talk about it. Or can you not talk to anyone but Gwen?”

“No, Uhmis…I can talk with you. If you wish.”

“I do.”

I sigh, deeply. “I lost two children, a wife, and now I’m not sure if I’m still completely human. How’s that for starters?”

“You lost one child. My daughter lost a child. There’s a difference. No, don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. There is a difference. Your divorce was…unfortunate. Alice is a lovely mount. I’m sure you two together were something special. And you are human, no matter how much your Muhmis alters you.”

“I lost two children. I bore one, nursed them both, loved them both. I lost two.” My eyes have teared up again and my voice shakes. “Gwen understands that a little more than you do, Uhmis. With all respect, of course.”

She looks over my head, into the middle distance. “I’m not sure how much of anything Gwen… so, you think your loss was the same, no matter whether it was a Draka or a human? Is that it?”

“They’re both dead now.” I twist a piece of grass through my fingers, and it snaps. “Gone.”

“True. But you must remember that you are not Draka.” Yolande’s voice is firm.

I reach out and touch her leg, amazed at my own daring. My fingers rest there, lightly, feeling the heat from her skin leaching through the soft cotton of her trousers. “The knowledge that I am not one of you is etched into my soul.”

Blue eyes glance down at my hand, then to my face. “Daring little one, aren’t you?”

“I wanted to make sure you heard that.” I start to pull my hand back, and hers closes over it. She squeezes, gently, and then just companionably holds it. I’m surprised, and my face shows it.

“Why have you been so distant, Uhmis? Ever since I met you, really…”

Yolande smiles at me. “Because…I sensed you were very uneasy around me, for one reason.”

“Is the other reason something we can discuss?”

She looks confused, briefly. “Other reason?”

“The real reason you tampered with protocol, intervening when calling Gwen would have been the appropriate thing to do. The reason we’re sitting here like this, with Alexandra sent back to the House. That reason, Uhmis.”

She laughs; her voice is higher than Gwen’s, and her laugh tinkles through the deepening shadows of the trees like elves just out of view. “Well, wench, since you know so very much about the reason, why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

I take a deep breath, and another. If she kills me, Gwen will probably kill her, or die trying. I hope Gwen wouldn’t resurrect me; I’m not sure I could deal with that, too. But death might be a release, a rest… if there’s any afterlife, and if there’s shopping there, Peter’ll be waiting for me, I think. “The reason you’ve been distant, and the reason you called me up on my behavior is the same one: you’re jealous of me.”

Stillness settles over her features like a Grecian mask. “Jealous? How so?”

“You’re jealous of what Gwen and I share, Yolande. You’re jealous because she loves me, and she reminds you every day of Myfwany.”

“If you dare to even approach insulting that name, I’ll…”

“I know. You’ll kill me, probably in some horrid fashion. No, no…please, listen. I’m not here to insult you, or Myfwany—”

“You’re here to serve.” Her face is cold and closed to me now. Damn, have I lost the connection I just had with her?

“Oh, please…listen? Please? Just a little?” I take her hand in both of mine, and lift it to my lips. “Please, Yolande, listen, don’t shut me out.”

Yolande stiffens both at the contact of my lips and at my chutzpah at using her first name without express permission; but the message gets through, I see, as her face relaxes a little. “Go on…”

“Just your reactions alone tell me I’m hitting somewhere near the truth. I don’t want you to be jealous. I want you and Gwen to be as close as mother and daughter can be. But I am not about to stop loving her, or saying that, just to please you.” I swallow, my mouth going dry at the thought of what such insolence could bring in the way of punishment.

Her look is direct but without anger. “You are a feisty little vixen, aren’t you?”

“I love Gwen, Uhmis Yolande. And she loves me. I know you’re uncomfortable with—”

“Not uncomfortable. Disbelieving. I truly do not believe that a Draka can love a human, any more than a human can say she’s in love with…a pet cat, for instance. You may be very fond of it, but you are not in love with it.”

I look down at her hand, still held in mine. “So because you don’t think we’re…truly on your level of existence, you think we cannot exchange true feelings, like love?”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. It’s been difficult, at times painful, to define the relationship and the feelings that Gwen and I share, Uhmis Yolande, but we’ve managed. As have hundreds of other Draka-human groups, here on Earth/2. We manage to get past the…cultural barriers…and discover a new frontier, that of the heart and mind.”

“You’re fooling yourself. I really didn’t think you were a romantic wench, but that’s what it is sounding like.”

“No, Uhmis, I’m not fooling myself,” I say, as I gently squeeze her hand. “It’s true. And you’re fooling yourself if you refuse to see it, or the implications of the changes happening all around you. ‘Life is change, how it differs from the rocks…’ ”

“What I see is that my daughter has some foolish notions about a favorite bedwench, and that it may affect her not only personally but politically as well. That’s dangerous, Erin.”

“Foolish notions? I don’t think so. Gwen’s never been one for foolishness. As for danger… it’s dangerous not to see what’s really happening, Uhmis Yolande.”

“Her actions, and obvious attachment to you, as well, are causing…waves.”

“Good.”

Yolande leans closer to me, and cups my chin with her free hand. “Good? Will it be good if the opposition parties use this against your Muhmis? Will it be good if this causes enough problems to spark duels? Deathmatches? Your feelings are nothing in comparison with the empire she’s building. Don’t fool yourself, little human. If it comes down to the line, your ‘love’ won’t matter. You must understand that—you’ve been around us long enough to know how ruthless we can be.”

“I’ve been around you long enough to know there’s hope for you to be able to change, too. I know enough to not get in the way of her political ambitions or plans. Our love is separate from that. And it’s lasted through good times and bad, already. I’m not worried about it. I am always worried about duels, and challenges. Always. But they’ll happen whether or not I’m in love with her, Uhmis Yolande.”

“They’ll happen more often when it becomes public knowledge, when the rumors already out there become…fact.”

“She’s not marrying me, she’s marrying Schalk DeLange!! She’ll never…marry…me. I know I’m her serf. She knows that, too, of course. We’ve talked about it, and we’ll continue to talk about it. But I know I’m not her life mate, and I would never come between her and a Draka lover.” I move my head slowly from her hand, and she lets it go. “Uhmis Yolande, I behave around Gwen in public according to strict protocol, and never violate that. You know that. How do you mean, rumors becoming fact?”

“You’re observed on more than one level. Much of our communication is not verbal, but physical. People are watching, and learning. That’s what I mean. I want to protect Gwen as much as possible.”

“I know you do,” I smile. “So do I. As my…um, record…shows. And I understand about the observation, but truly, even there, I’m careful. So’s she. Aren’t you sort of overreacting?”

“When the stakes are as high as they are…” Yolande’s voice trails off, and through the deepening shadows, a form comes towards us, moving like a Draka in a hurry. We both stand, and wait.

Gwen comes to a smooth halt in front of us, her eyes bright with anger. “Mother?”

“Yes, I know, Gwen. I violated your right to discipline your own. Please accept my apologies. We’ve managed to have a very…interesting… little conversation.” Yolande holds out her right hand, palm up in a gesture of peace.

Muhmis looks at her mother for a long moment, and then takes the woman’s hand in a wrist-clasp. “Just please don’t do it again, especially with this serf.”

“All right.”

Gwen turns to me. “And you, wench…it’s been a long time since I had you over my knee. Do you need a reminder?”

“No, Muhmis, please,” I say, looking down at the ground.

“Fine. Get to the House, and get cleaned up. I’ll meet you there. Now.” The Command voice is there, ringing in the night like a bronze bell. My feet are moving quickly down the dark path before I’m really conscious of it. I leave the two Draka to work things out between them, and head toward the House, and a bath. And hopefully Gwen will be in a better mood when she gets back, too, I think, wincing as I remember the last punishment I received from her, years ago. Took me a week to be able to sit down comfortably. Hell’s bells, I hope she’s not really angry with me…

The lights of the House, warm and yellow in the summer night, greet me as I run past the French windows of the south side. I sprint inside and up the back stairs, taking them two at a time. It feels good to move; in fact it feels wonderful. I surprise myself with a grin as I enter the third floor suites, and head toward the palatial bathing rooms. Feels like I’m sixteen again, sometimes, I think. If only I was, knowing what I know now. Jeezie petes…


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
**  
I sink into the hot bath, sighing as the heat eats away at my tension. God, this feels good, I think. And at last, for a few minutes, anyway, I have some priv—

The steam clears for a moment as someone walks into the room; I hear them set down their bathing clogs and then aim for the main tub, which I’m in. –acy…well, no privacy now, I groan inwardly. If only the Draka hadn’t been so insistent on all of us taking up their bathing habits. I sit up against the smooth wall of the marble bath, and watch as a pair of pretty sexy looking legs descends.

I start to say something witty, like “My, what pretty legs you have, my dear,”; fortunately I stop myself as Alice sits down across from me. We haven’t spoken much since I got back from the trip to Mars, and even less since the Bug attack, and May’s death. And Ariadne’s, too, I append. She looks startled for a moment, then annoyed. Her clear blue eyes stare through me, and then she looks away, ducking her head under and then smoothing her long blonde hair back over one shoulder.

“Good evening, madam,” I say with a smile, trying for the friendly approach. Alice nods frigidly, and a snarl hums at the back of my throat, aching for release. I firmly stuff it down inside me, and warn it not to come out any time soon. Have to be civil, I think. Bloodshed in the baths is frowned upon. Usually.

I try again. “Haven’t seen you for awhile, Alice, been busy?”

“Yes.”

Oh, this is lovely, I think. I have to sit here and wait for Muhmis, and on top of that, put up with the Ice Bitch here. Lovely evening I’m having. Just great. I sigh and lean my head back, trying to focus more on the calming effects of the piping hot water flowing around me.

“Of course, you’ve been busy, too, haven’t you?” Alice’s question surprises me. I open my eyes and look over at her, through the steam.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I grin. “But haven’t we all? Makes me appreciate things like this bath more. No baths in space.”

“No graves, either.”

Uh-oh. Shawonda had told me that Alice had to be sedated when the news came through, and had said some pretty unkind things about me until she was out. I don’t want to go here, I think. Not tonight, maybe not ever. “No, Alice, no graves…”

She sits up and leans toward me, her voice going low and venomous. “How could you? How could you? I knew you were cold, but I never thought you were…murderous.”

“What?” I draw my knees up against my chest in defensiveness, even though, at a level almost too low to be cognizant of, the hormones have started their siren call again. Have to sit on those, I remind myself silently. Control is everything. “I don’t understand. Maybe you don’t, either. Let’s not get into this, Alice, especially not tonight.”

“Hell, you’re probably freakin’ proud of what you did. You know I can’t say anything against Anyone Else,” Alice whispers, the steel in her voice cutting into me with each word, “but I can tell you what a bitch, a cold, inhuman bitch, I think you are. You killed our daughter. But you’re probably proud about it, and want to tell me something about the glory of dying for the Race, right? Right?”

“Alice, please, listen…”

“No, you listen. Before, when I asked for the divorce, I was scared of you. You’d changed so much, and you’d become so close to Her. But now…I hate you. Stone cold hate you. You’re not human anymore. I don’t know how I ever loved you, either.”

Enough is enough, part of my mind says, and I lean forward, arms still around my knees. Our faces are inches apart; the cedar incense from the open, cheery fireplace is incongruously fighting with the cold anger I feel inside. “Now listen, Alice Wayne d’Ingolfsson, former wife of mine. And listen good, because this is the first and last time I’ll ever talk with you about this.”

I wait a moment, feeling the pulse pounding in my throat. Her eyes stay locked on mine, and are coldly unreadable. She looks old, I think, even though she’s had her rejuve, the one life expansion that Gwen granted her. She looks old and haggard and frightened and terribly, deeply angry.

“Alice, I didn’t kill our daughter. The Bugs did. They also killed Ariadne, and over a hundred of their crewmates. They all died—human and Draka alike—because they were in the wrong place at the right time. They died for us. If that’s glorious, so be it. All I feel is the pain right now. Yeah,” I go on, my voice never wavering from the hoarse, low tone it started out as, “I feel pain, Ally. I feel all sorts of things. Whether you believe me or not is a moot point. It’s a little late for that.”

She snorts and sits back, arms crossed in front of her chest, hiding her full, buoyant breasts. I go on: “I feel things. I feel love and hate and fear and grief. I’m still human, whether or not you choose to believe that, either.”

“Like bloody hell you are.”

“Goddamn it, Alice, I’m not here to debate you on that issue. Frankly, I don’t care what you think I am. All I want to do is tell you I miss our daughter, too. As much as—”

Whack. The palm of her hand slaps into my forearm, raised faster than I could have thought about it, and my hand closes over hers. This hand, I think, this hand that used to caress me, this hand I used to hold when we’d go walking, this hand…is a hand of a stranger now. “Don’t ever try to hit me, Alice. That’s not wise.”

“Oh, yeah, with yer damn hyped-up inhuman reflexes, eh?” Her Australian accent is growing stronger as her rage increases. “Whyn’t you bloody well take me head off then?”

“I’d never hurt you.” I let her hand go, and it splashes into the hot water between us before she snatches it away.

“You’ve already hurt me more than anyone ever…” Her eyes fill up with tears, and she chokes to a sudden stop.

“No, you know that’s not true,” I whisper, gently. “I know that’s not true. Honey, listen. We’ve split up, for better or worse. But this grief, this loss, is like some open wound that we keep digging at. Let it go, please. It’s not my fault the girls died. They died defending us. Try to be proud of who they were, and how we raised them. I miss them, too, Alice. Terribly. And I do miss her as much as you do.”

“I can’t…I can’t stand this…” She stands, shaking, and starts to climb out of the marble bath. Her hand slips on the slick surface, and I catch her, rising to my feet to keep her from tumbling out of the tub onto the floor. “No! No, let me go, please…”

I release her gently. “I loved you, Ally. Oh, gods, how I loved you…part of me still does, always will. Try to understand.”

“I try. But I can’t. You’ve got to understand that.” She picks up her towels, wrapping one around her slender waist. “I don’t know you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. And my daughter’s gone now. There’s nothing to hold us together. I might as well tell you now, since you’ll hear anyway—Muhmis is giving me away, to Uhmis Yolande. I’m to be hers, now. I’m leaving with her in a couple of days, to start settling her Landholding, near…” Alice pauses.

“Where?” I ask, still holding her hand in mine, gently. I wonder why the pause…

“Tahoe. Our vacation…Ruth Ann…But that’s where Uhmis, well, now Muhmis Yolande picked. That’s where I’ll be.”

“Maybe we can visit, see each other…”

“No, Erin.” She takes her hand away, not ungently. “Listen. It’s over, it’s bloody well over. I don’t want to see you or talk with you anymore. That’s one reason I’m being allowed to go away; I’ll never be back in Gwen’s good graces again, anyway. You’re her special one, and that’s it. Call it quits, darlin. Save yourself the hurt…if you can, in fact, feel the same things I feel anymore. I’m not convinced you can. You’re not human anymore, but you’re not Draka either. So be it. Call it quits, Erin, and let’s say goodbye.”

I open my mouth to say something, anything, and she puts her forefinger to my lips, hushing me. “Please, Erin.”

My mouth closes, as tears trickle acidly down my cheeks. I nod wordlessly and sink back into the bath, turning my back to her, and to that whole part of my life. She walks away, stopping to pick up her clogs. Finally I hear the oak doors swing shut with a dull sound, and the tears I’ve been holding back come full force for a few moments. Private moments.

**  
I’ve pretty much recovered by the time Gwen comes in. I hear the doors open, but when I don’t hear footsteps, I know it’s either a Draka or one of the kawtuh that Gwen’s training. I don’t open my eyes to look, either.

“Well, well, well…” Gwen’s silky voice whispers into my ear, and she slides smoothly into the tub. “What an interesting evening we’ve all had, don’t you think?” Her hands turn me around, so that my back is facing her, and then her hands begin caressing, stroking, tugging at my stiff muscles. “You’re like wood, Erin…is something more than your little discussion with Mother going on?”

“Yes, Muhmis.”

“Gwen, since we’re alone, and I want you to be open right now. We have things to work out, you and I,” she murmurs, her hands doing wonders for my stiff joints and tense muscles.

“Yes, Gwen.”

She sighs, softly. “Erin, what happened?”

“Alice.”

“Ah…” A few moments of intense kneading, and I’m leaning back against her chest, her legs around me, her arms surrounding me and holding me gently. “Want to talk about it?”

“Could you relax me more completely first, Gwen, my Gwen?” I turn in her grip, my hands on either side of her face, looking down into those beautiful wide leaf-green eyes. “Please?”

Her smile answers me, and then her kiss confirms our plans…

**  
The lovemaking begins slowly, as it almost always does with Gwen and me. Touching, stroking, exploring…the rising tides of passion taking us over as surely as the tides change in the ocean. But something changes tonight; my grip is stronger, more sure, and suddenly we’re wrestling more than we’re wenching…

I twist in her arms, trying with all my strength to find a grip on her that will enable me to be on top, even for a moment of triumph. My teeth nip her shoulder, hard enough to mark it, and her purr shifts into a snarl of arousal. We’re splashing in the hot water, rolling and writhing, coiling and twisting…her strength, so much greater than mine, eventually wining out. I can tell that she’s been holding back by the growing tension in her body and the deepening of her growls.

Finally she wrenches away from my clinging arms and legs, picks me up above her head, and then body-slams me into the water. The molecular armor I have now keeps me from being bruised, but the breath whoofs out of me all at once. Gwen’s body comes down on mine, hard, and we’re suddenly both underwater. The bubbles slow down as we stop moving so much, and her eyes lock onto mine. She’s not playing anymore, I realize; I wasn’t playing, much at all—how shocking. I strain to keep from gasping, and she feels the movements of my chest becoming more and more spasmodic as the seconds tick away.

I realize that she’s waiting for something, and force a calm to override the urgent messages from my lungs to my brain. She can kill me like this, you know, old girl, now’s not the time to have a hissy fit. Enough’s enough… I manage to relax in her grip, looking up trustingly into her leaf-green eyes. Her hair floats above us, shading the water with redness. Gwen sees the message in my eyes, and feels the acceptance in my body, and relents.

We pop out of the water suddenly, Gwen pulling me onto her lap with a single strong tug. I sit astride her, facing her, breathing deeply as my lungs ache. She’s barely breathing hard at all. Her arms hold mine to my sides and I wait to see what she’ll have to say. Should be interesting…I’ve never before gotten into a major wrestling match with her while making love.

“What was all that about, my wench?” Her voice is mellow, smooth, soft. Her hands, though, hold me in a vise-like grip of steel, and I feel the heat from her body pouring through my own.

“I…Muhmis…that is, I mean…um…”

“You’re not being very…concise.”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I don’t know what that was. I meant no disrespect, of course. It was just a wild hair, Gwen.”

“A wild hair that almost got your sweet little ass in some hotter water than this.”

I hang my head. “I know. Sorry.”

Gwen laughs softly. “No…I’m not angry with you; you just got some automatic reactions out of me. It was almost like…” She stops, and I look up to see why. Her face is clouded, somewhat; thoughtful.

“Like?”

A chuckle. “Like holding a young Draka…perhaps mounting them for the first time. Gentle, but sexy.”

“That’s what the first time would be like? Good grief…” I grin. “Wasn’t like that for you and me. I remember.”

“Oho…I remember, too. You certainly do have a high-pitched squeal, pretty pony.” She nuzzles against my throat, nipping lightly. “The first time for a lower-ranked Draka with someone of a higher status, that’s what it felt like. Odd.”

“I know you…ahhhhh…” I lose my train of thought as fingers move from their grip on my arms to trail delicately, precisely, down my chest. “Um… I know you don’t think of me like that… uhhh… mmmh.”

“You know how I think of you, Erin,” comes the reply, as her head moves down my chest.

“Despite the loving warnings of your mother?” I manage to squeak.

Her head stops, and I whine, out of frustration, stroking my hands through her thick, unbound hair. “Gwennnn….”

“Now do you want to have a conversation, or do you want…”Her lips find their target, and I shiver uncontrollably. “Which, my pretty girl?”

“Nnnhhhh---how about more of that, and conversation later, pretty please?”

“Fine by me…”

**  
“That was…different,” Gwen murmurs into my ear, bending down and nestling her head next to mine for a moment, letting the shower water spatter over us both. “I certainly enjoy your new-found stamina. One of the best side-effects, so far, of your last make-over.”

I kiss her gently. “Turn round, and I’ll rinse your back, Muhmis.”

She does so, slowly, maintaining as much physical contact as she can while she moves. “What? Don’t want to talk, now?”

Chuckling, I wash away any lingering soap bubbles from her broad, muscled, hard-as-marble back. The skin feels so hot against my hands, I think, like she’s on fire. She is…she’s on fire with desires I don’t understand. Not sure I want to, either. I grin and wrap my arms around her slender waist. “No, I’m able to speak coherently now, I think.”

“Good!” Gwen leans against me for a long moment, the water running down between our bodies with a soft plashing sound. I bury my face in her long, mahogany hair, hanging unbound down her back. She smells good; familiar by now, I realize. I hope I smell as good to her as she does to me…

“Auric for your thoughts, sweet,” Muhmis says, turning around and kissing me firmly on the mouth.

My grin turns wider. “Just hoping I smell as good to you as you do to me…”

“Ah, yes, saafn mine, you smell…lovely.” With a sweep of her arm, muscles in it moving like machined steel in oil, she goes on: “Shall we step out of the shower now? Before you become a sweet- smelling but wrinkled human?”

“By all means.” I step out first and hand her a cotton towel, deep blue with a broad gold stripe going through the center of it. “Do you wish me to dry you first, Muhmis?” Years of practice have allowed me the control to keep the faint sense of exasperation out, safely out, of my harmonics.

“No… I’ll do it.” Gwen takes the towel and quickly rubs herself dry. I follow suit, handing her robe to her when she’s ready for it. She slips into the silk robe and ties the sash loosely, allowing me ample viewing opportunities. I blush, a little, and she laughs softly, leaning over to expertly tongue me with a residual passion that no human can possibly keep up with. “Tired you out, haven’t I?”

“Jest a bit…” I stretch, unselfconsciously in front of this woman who’s seen me naked in more ways than one, and then slip into a pair of shorts and a roomy t-shirt. It has an insufferably cute kitten on the front; one of Jennifer’s jokes for my birthday. “But I’ll recover, sooner than I used to. Don’t mind that, at all.”

We walk from the bathing rooms to her quarters; the house is quiet now. Night has fallen, and only occasionally can I hear hushed voices, or a peal of laughter from other parts of the house. Inside Gwen’s rooms, the only noise is a soft whisper of wind through the open French doors by her bed. I wait, unsure of where she wants to go, and that brings a smile to her full lips, a completely open smile of contentment and pleasure.

“Come, let’s sit here, by the balcony, and we’ll talk, you and I,” Gwen says, curling up comfortably in one of the chaise lounges. I start to sit on the matching one, and she waves her hand, for me to sit with her. I move over, and curl up against her side, my head coming to her collarbone. Her left arm encircles me firmly, and fingers stroke through my hair.

“What wou—”

“Do you wa—”

We both start laughing. Gwen recovers first, and says, “What would you like to talk about first, business or personal matters?”

Still laughing a little, I manage to say “Personal!” before she tickles me into more laughter.

“Oh, please…please, stop. I’m laughing so hard I’m near tears, Gwen…plus, my ribs are still tired after our little wrestling match, please…”

She relents, and waits for me to open the conversation, a cat-like expression of happiness and some inner contentment on her aquiline, tanned face. I slowly regain my composure, snuggle again to get comfortable, and look up into her clear leaf-green eyes.

“I’ve apologized for the outburst that I had in front of Alexa and Yolande, Gwen. Am I still in trouble over that?”

“Nooo…”, slowly and calculatingly. “Not really, as long as you work a little harder on developing more control. You need that.”

“I know. I will. Sorry, really.”

“Tell me about Alice.”

I sigh. “What else is there to tell? I mean…she hates me; I’m wishing we weren’t breaking apart, or I was…”

“Change your mind recent-like? As in the last few hours?”

Nodding, I rest my head against her chest. “After the things Alice said, there’s no going back. There’s nothing left; she believes in a scorched-earth policy.”

“There are pros and cons to that, certainly.”

“It’s not my fault, Gwen!” The cry tears out of me unexpectedly, and her arm tightens around my shoulders.

“What, sweetlin’? Tell Muhmis, now…shhh, don’t cry so hard, my Erin…the children? Is that it? Of course it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill them. I ordered them, and their ship, to where it had to go. They were killed by those gods-damned Bugs. But I’ll have my revenge, and so will you. Believe me.” Her voice starts out slow, and gentle, and loving, but by the time she stops, it’s gone as cold as the space between the stars, and as unyielding as diamond.

“Oh, if only…”

She rocks me a little. “ ‘The saddest statement known to man/ more so even than the lamentations of the lonely / truly, these words are / “if only”…’” Gwen’s hand strokes firmly through my hair, knowing after years of living with me that doing that will calm me faster than almost anything else.

I finally feel the tears stop, and sit up a little, wiping in frustration at my face with both hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all weepy and girlish on you…”

“Sssaaaa…” She hands me some tissue, and after a couple of honks on my nose, I feel like a better person. Less stuffy, anyhow.

“Quoting your mother at me, are you?” I say, mock seriously.

“She has some good things to say. Usually. We don’t see eye-to-eye about everything.”

“Meaning me? You and me?” I look up into her face, studying it, looking for a reaction.

Gwen closes her eyes for a long moment. “Yes. Ah, well…if things were too easy, we’d be bored to death. Awful way to go.”

“Everybody goes sometime.”

“True enough, sweetlin’, but I want to decide the time and place and manner of my demise. I don’t want to expire with a whimper. But that’s neither here nor there. We were talking of Yolande’s ideas about you and I, weren’t we?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Gwen…it scares me. I think if you ever had to choose between your duty to the Race and me, I know which way you’d choose.”

“You think you know that, hmm? Interesting. Tell me which way I’d go.”

I shrug. “The Race, of course.”

“Have you analyzed this decision deeply? Or is it based on human intuition?” Gwen cups my chin in her hand, an infinitely tender gesture, and tilts my head back so she can look into my eyes.

“But your first obligation has always been to the Race. You brought up your children to believe that, to live and…” I pause briefly, “to die believing that.”

“True. But don’t be so quick to decide about that, all right? Let’s put it this way—don’t ever ask me to make that choice. I’m not saying which way I’d go, I’m just telling you it would be a very painful moment for both of us. Both, understand?”

“Maybe.”

“Say yes, Erin.” Her voice has grown serious, but I can’t help myself.

“ ‘Yes, Erin!’”

“Wotan’s balls, girl, I’m…”

“Serious, I know. Sorry. Couldn’t…ok. Yes, I understand. Thanks for being honest with me, if not completely totally clear on that.”

“I’m clear in my head about it, and that’s what counts.”

“Oh.”

She rolls her eyes expressively. “What a dreadful lot of sarcasm can be put in a word.”

I grin. “Sorry.”

She leans down and kisses me. “No, you’re not. Now…Yolande has one set of ideas about humans, and I am in the process…of developing some different ideas. She and I may discuss it, but for no reason whatsoever are you to argue with her about any of this. I want you to remember whom you’re dealing with; she has strong feelings still about damnyanks. Clear? Obedience, respect. That’s what I expect from you when dealing with Yolande.”

“Always, Muhmis. Believe me, I never forget I’m a serf.”

“That’s wise.” Gwen looks over my head into the clear night sky beyond. “You’ve become infinitely dear to me, you know that. And I know you’ll never misuse that. Schalk truly enjoys you, too, not just as a pretty wench to mount occasionally, but as a person. You and he have formed quite a little coalition already, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” I look at my hands and resist the urge to crack my knuckles, a nervous behavior of mine. “He’s very…nice. Really nice, I mean he’s never very pushy, he’s always gentle for a Draka, and he’s intensely loyal to you. So we get along really, really well, Gwen. I’m lucky in many ways, and I never forget that, either.”

“You’re a wise little wench.” There’s a gentle humor in her voice, coming from a woman almost 500 years old who forgets nothing. “I love you.” She kisses the top of my head.

“I love you. Even though we’re so different, even though you own me…somehow, I love you.” I smile up at her. “Somehow.”

“Did you seriously consider the Samothracians’ offer of safe haven? Defection? Asylum?”

I pause for a long time, thinking. “No. Not really. I couldn’t walk away from everything here. I couldn’t walk away from my children, my lovers, my friends and family. People like Jennifer and Shawonda, Andri and Tom, Yannan and Rosta…they’ve become my family. And you, and your children. I thought about it, Gwen, I’ll be honest. But at the sticking point—I couldn’t do it.”

“You’re important, very important, not only to me on a personal level, but to the humans here on a more global level. Do you understand that?”

“How can I be, to them, when they don’t even think I’m human anymore?” The bitterness is clear in my tone.

“Some think that; others think you’re the reason so many of your humans have gotten off the planet, have new technology to develop…better life spans, more stability. I know; we gather information like that, darlin’.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’. You’ve been very helpful with the negotiations, as well. Even Alexis has noticed. You’ll be at my side for the next round, too, starting next week in Geneva. They’re coming here this time, a major political boost for us. This will be important, Erin.”

“I guess we’re through talking about personal stuff?” I try to grin.

“No…it’s actually blending together. I need you to be stable during the sessions. Do you feel like you can maintain that, or should we medicate you--ah, don’t get all stiff on me, my girl, listen—until after, when you’ll have more time to develop your own control skills? A daily maintenance level dose of dociline would do it, and wouldn’t hurt your mind’s abilities in the least.”

“No! No, please…I’ll be fine, promise! Please!” The idea of being drugged terrifies me, and she knows it, too.

“Alright, we’ll see. One of my aides will bring some along, just in—Erin…” I’m shivering. “Erin, come now. If you do get upset, then we’ll need to calm you down, right there. Clear? No argument about this.”

There are times when we’re friends, times when we’re lovers, and times when she is unmistakably Muhmis, my Draka owner. This is one of them, I think to myself, and lower my eyes carefully. “Yes, Muhmis. Your will.”

“There. That’s said and done. Now, about this not being human…is that how you feel?”

“I don’t know, Muhmis.”

“Erin, talk with me. I’m not ‘coming down on you’ anymore. Talk with me, darlin.”

“It’s just that…all these new feelings, these new physical changes…but I know inside, in a place you can’t…um…ah, that is…”

“You think there’s a place inside where I can’t control you. Correct?” Gwen’s voice is gentle again.

“Yes. There is a place there like that. Inside me. That place still feels human, Gwen. But I find myself doing things that aren’t…normal for who I used to be. For chrissakes, I growled at one of my assistants the other day. Growled, because he was acting like a dork, and I got frustrated with him. And this afternoon in the cemetery…and when I work out, sometimes. Or when I’m…well, with you…you know…”

“Like this afternoon, when you tried your damnedest to wrestle with me?”

“You got it.” I shake my head, grinning a little. “It’s like then, I don’t know how I feel. Then I have people—Samothracians and humans—telling me that I’m acting more and more like a little Draka. That’s not what I want to be, Gwen. You know that; you’ve known that for years now.”

“I know it, but I don’t honestly understand it. Never mind. What matters is that you make the adjustments necessary to deal with both your new-found physical capabilities and the mental changes that your capabilities and status level among humans. You must make those adjustments, mia dolce ragazza, and I want to help in any way I can. Understand?”

“I understand. I appreciate it, too.” I yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. “Dolce mia, might we continue this discussion in bed? I’m about wore out…”

She grins, teeth white in the night. From outside, in the woods, an owl calls and another answers. “Yes, my Erin, I’ll take you to bed. But right now, sleep will be the topic under examination…then perhaps after a nap, we’ll think of something else to do…”

I drift into a deep, dreamless sleep, curled next to Gwen, spoon-wise, in bed. The night passes, unnoticed, outside our windows. The words of Yolande seem to ravel their way through my head, though, and fragments return to me occasionally… “if only…”


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
**

The table is round, and we’re seated at careful intervals around it. I’m sitting to Gwen’s left, a note pad before me (mostly for appearance sake, since everything I do is routed through my transducer). Crystal decanters of water glisten on the hardwood, glasses all lined up next to our name cards. This is so formal, so stiff. I wonder: how the hell do we get anything really done around here, with all the formality and ceremony. No one drinks the water, anyway…

The Samothracians have insisted that they have control over the ventilation of the room, even though it’s here on Earth/2; I think they’re worried about subliminal pheromonal control. The Draka all sort of sniggered at the Samo concern, but agreed. They probably have a way to get round the control over the air circulation, I realize suddenly, that’s why Gwen sort of snapped in a serious manner at that one young Merarch who laughed out loud when we read the request. Hmm…

That young Merarch is now “maintaining security watch over vehicles”, a nice way of saying Gwen kicked her young fanny out of the discussions altogether, and put her outside watching the grass grow around the aircars. Embarrassing, probably, for the kid, but she needs better control that she displayed if she’s going to deal with the Damn Sams, I mentally chuckle. I have better control than that!

The chief negotiation team for the Samothracians enters slowly, preceded by a Samothracian security element, floating along like a friendly cute little ball of silver. Friendly, my ass—this thing could take out a good-sized city if it was ordered to do so. Antimatter’s no one’s friend. It beeps softly and settles into a stable orbit around the table; my eyes follow it until Gwen gives me a mental nudge via transducer. I drop my eyes, studying the blank paper before me, while I try to dig a hole in the carpet under the table with one booted toe. And I was just bragging on myself, too, I think. Goof-off. Pay attention!

The Samothracian delegation, I’m pleased to see, includes Commander Packard, and trailing him is Emily Richardson. She’s smiling at me, and I return the friendly gesture happily. She’s a good kid, I think, it’s too bad she’s been programmed from birth to hate us. The delegates stand at their places, waiting for General Smythe to signal them to be seated, and he does, after looking us over slowly. His eyes may have had a tinge of warmth in them as they met mine, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

“Greetings to you, Planetary Archon Ingolfsson, and your staff, as well. Thank you for having us here on your base…” He nods his head fractionally toward the windows. Outside, life goes on; here it seems frozen for long moments of tension. We’re sitting in a brand-new memet armored facility, perched on the side of a mountain in Austria. The views are gorgeous, but the drops…are something I don’t like to think about. Not that I’ll have much time for sight-seeing this go-round, I say to myself. Gwen will keep me busy as a squirrel collecting nuts…

“Welcome. I am very pleased that your government has decided to join in these talks with the Race. This is ground-breaking, historical work we’re doing. Too, I hope your delegates will have time to enjoy the sights and activities around here; one reason we chose it as the site. Please feel free to do so, General.” Gwen smiles, that odd, closed-in curve of her lips, and the General mirrors her expression unconsciously. Or is it, I wonder; how much have they studied and planned for these talks? Mirroring expressions is one way to influence, very subtly, the course of a conversation.

“Well, with the niceties out of the way, shall we get down to business? We have a peace treaty to negotiate terms for, and a working agreement to develop as regards our collective efforts to find the home base of the arachnid creatures—the Bugs—and exterminate them. Yes?”

“Those are some important subjects, yes, but we also have to discuss the issue of ambassadors, embassies and staffing on our respective planets,” Gwen counters smoothly. I take note, as I’ve been trained to do, of the physical reactions of the various delegates to what Muhmis says. No one really shows a tremendous amount of reactance, but then small things are the important ones to note. 

Two of the delegates, middle-aged-looking men, tighten their knuckles just a bit as she mentions the issue of embassies. Catalog that, cross-reference them…generate brief summary reports on their political histories and personal oddments. Send the thing to Gwen as soon as it’s done…she blips back a glyph of a smile, and continues talking with the General.

Emily has been stealing glances out the floor to ceiling windows, looking over the mountainside, the snow glaring cold white in the sun, the trees a deep green around our building. One thing I can say for the Draka, they know how to landscape. They don’t merely plow a flat spot, throw down some prefab buildings, and run off. Everything is done with the long-term goal in mind, something I couldn’t really grasp until I became unaging. Now I enjoy it.

Several hours go by, with me sometimes bored, sometimes frantically searching for information to send to Gwen; she has two other aides, both Draka, doing the same thing. Basically, during these sessions, she is the most well-informed being on the planet; we prioritize and code things for her to digest and she analyzes the whole picture in turn from our data points. It’s interesting work, but after five hours, my mind is tired. One of the two aides—Clara Smitson, an ensign, sends me a brief note:

When in all the hells are we going to break for lunch? I’m starving!

I mentally chuckle, careful not to make any audible noise, and reply:

You know these damn politicians…once they get going…we’ll probably starve. Sigh.

Clara smiles slightly and nods, her eyes somewhat unfocused as she pores through data warehouses full of information Gwen may require immediately. You got it, kid, she sends back.

As focused as she is on the negotiations, Gwen’s noticed; her left eyebrow goes up a tiny fraction, and I swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Did we bother her? Clara’ll get a tongue-lashing, nothing more, probably, but I could get the spanking of a lifetime if…

“Gentlemen, ladies, brothers and sisters of the Race, perhaps we should call for a break now? After all, it’s been 5.29 hours, and I’m hungry, and in need of a stretch. Shall we reconvene, say, in two hours?” Gwen glances around the room, but manages to spear me with her eyes. I detect a slight glint of humor there, and my heart slows down a little. The rest of the delegates, human, Draka, and Samothracian alike all agree (gasp!) that a dinner break would do wonders, and the room begins to clear out.

Emily walks over to where I’m sitting, waiting until I’ve removed the silver, thin diadem I use for high-volume transducer work before she holds out her hand in greeting. “Hi, Sera Erin! Nice to see you again!”

“Same here! You seem to be getting taller every time I see you, either that or I’m shrinking…” I joke, taking her hand in mine and giving it a good squeeze. “How’s life?”

“Better since the Bugs are gone, but busy. Awful busy! Being an aide isn’t the cushy job I heard it was, you know?” The young woman grins at me, returning the pressure from my hand easily. Of course I didn’t squeeze it as hard as I could, and I’m content to let her be the final “squeezer”. 

“Heck, being an aide is hard work! Believe me!” I laugh.

“Truly, gods above and below, the wench’s right,” chuckles Clara Smitson, from behind me. Emily stiffens a little, whether at the mention of gods she doesn’t worship or whether she’s nervous in the presence of a Draka she doesn’t know—I decide it’s the latter.

“Uhmis the Ensign Clara Smitson, please meet my friend Lieutenant Emily Richardson. Lt. Richardson, Ensign Smitson.” I move so that I’m standing out of the middle, and watch the two women greet each other. A little stiffly, perhaps, but there’s room for growth on both sides, I think, plus we’ve got the commonality of being aides, too. It’ll work out.

“Erin, would you and Ensign Smitson please come with me? Miss, ah, excuse me, Lieutenant, Richardson, I’m sure Ensign Smitson would enjoy showing you around the facility, when I’m through talking with her. Just a moment, please.” Gwen’s hand is on my right elbow and she firmly guides me through the thinning groups in the conference room toward a private office. Clara trails us, a respectful distance behind and to the side of Gwen.

Emily wanders over to a table with refreshments—local delights—and I envy her as she begins to fill a china plate with a variety of foods. She winks at me and I wink back, and then Gwen whisks us into the private office.

“You two…” Gwen sighs. “First I have to send Ensign Tostenhaufer outside, since she can’t control herself appropriately, and then I have you two youngsters sending plaintive “feed me” messages back and forth…”

My eyes on the floor, hands held in front of me, I whisper, “Sorry, Muhmis the Archon.”

Clara follows me a split second later with a respectful, “Your pardon, Archon.”

Gwen cups my chin in her hand, tilting my face up to meet her eyes. They’re full of a restrained humor, almost laughing… “Apologies accepted. This time. Next time…let’s not think that there’ll be a next time, shall we?” 

I nod firmly, keeping the smile off my face, too. We know each other too well, I think…

“Yes, Archon. No repeats,” Clara says. She sounds distinctly uncomfortable, and I realize why: this is her first real fussin’ session she’s had with Gwen, and she doesn’t know Muhmis well enough to read between the lines very well. Admittedly, I was sort of worried there at first, too.

“Good. Very good. Now run along, Clara, and play tour guide for our young Samothracian friend. Erin, fetch me a plate, and yourself one as well. Bring them here.”

“Yes, Muhmis.” I back away, her fingers lingering on my face, delicately stroking, and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Dinner’s not the only thing on her mind, now is it? Clara snaps to attention as I back away, her heels clicking together. 

“Anything in particular I should observe the Samothracian for, Archon? Or is this merely a social gesture?”

“A friendly social gesture, Clara. Don’t spook her.” Gwen crosses the room and gazes out the windows onto the snow below us. “She’s…important. Clear?”

“Yes, Archon. Thank you,” Smitson replies, waiting until I’ve exited to follow me. Once we’re outside, she lets her breath out in a rush. “Wotan’s balls, I thought we were in some deep sh—”

“We will be in that very substance if you don’t watch it, all respect, Ensign,” I murmur. “You know the directive about language…”

“Urk!” Her face reddens. “Not thinking today…”

“Well, I was worried too, if that makes you feel any better,” I whisper. “Now be nice to Emily—she’s a great kid. I’ve known her from the first contacts, you know? Here, have one of these chocolate things, and tell me what you think.” I hand her a pastry, which is immediately consumed. Young or old, Draka are always either hungry or frisky, I think to myself, watching her face in amusement.

“Mmmmhhh…wonderful! Wunderbar! Sehr gut! Give me a plate of those, and a sandwich or two, and I’ll be on my way. Talk with you later, okay, Sera Erin?” 

“Fine by me! Another game of ‘Feudal’, perhaps?” Clara nods and grins, and moves away, looking for Emily. I quickly stack food on two plates, and one of the servus manning the table notices. He immediately provides a floater tray, and a coffee service, and a bright smile.

“Shall I deliver this somewhere, Sera?”

“No, old boy, that’s my job for right now…thanks, though.” I take the tray and walk past the mixture of people in the room…humans, servus, Samothracian, and Draka. Kawtuh and other genengineered species have been ordered not to attend, since their mere presence bothers Samothracians something awful. Kawtuh aren’t so bad…impulsive, a little giddy sometimes, and occasionally they shed like the dickens, but they’re ever so much better than the ghouloons. Those things still give me the jitters.

I bring the tray in to Gwen, and set out the food and coffee, handing her a cup that’s steaming and fragrant. “I picked a variety of things, Muhmis, not knowing what you’d prefer…”

“First, I prefer you, my pet…” Her arm snakes around my waist, pulling me to her. I lean down, letting my shoulder-length hair shade us, and give her the most erotic kiss I can think of. It has the… desired… effect. Lunch is, for the moment, forgotten. Relaxation instead becomes the goal, and years of being hers have given me some talents in that area…

**  
“You mean we have to climb up the hill? That mountain? Are you kidding? Isn’t there a lift or something?” I look up into the snow-dusted face of Gwen, and see a grin forming. “All the way up, just to hurtle ourselves to certain doom against one of these fir trees?”

“Yes! Isn’t that fun?” Gwen laughs. The snow continues to pelt down, and I shiver, despite being snuggled into the warmest jacket I could find on short notice. The fur collar has little clumps of ice forming on it, and my feet ache with the cold.

“Um…”

“Come on, wench!” Gwen tugs the sled along smoothly, the steering cable wrapped in one hand’s fingers. She takes my hand with her free hand, tugging me along, too. The trek up the mountainside begins. I sigh, but don’t protest; she wants to do this, and wants me along, and this is one of those times when she’s obviously got her mind made up. Stubborn ole Draka, I mentally complain, as I stick my tongue out to catch some snowflakes. You can do that now, since the environment’s been cleaned up so much. Before, back decades ago, catching snowflakes like this wasn’t so smart… how things change, and stay the same.

We meet another couple going up, another Draka with his tired human companion behind him, trudging through the two or three feet of snow on the ground. Hey, maybe the two Draka will…and we could go back to the chalet…no. Gwen’s stopped, and there’s an electric sense of tension in the air around us. I look carefully at the other Draka’s face, under the hood he’s wearing, and realize it’s a relative of Felice Vashon. The Vashons are not the best friends of the Von Shrakenbergs, I recall, and Gwen’s a VS by relationships as well as by inclination. Uh-oh.

The younger Draka stares at Gwen, apparently not recognizing her immediately—when he does, he bristles at first, but then carefully avoids direct eye contact. That could be interpreted as a challenge, the way these two families hate each other. Gwen’s still smoldering, I know, from having to beg Felice for support on some of the Earth/2 political stuff. This could get ugly…especially if we just stand here…

“Muhmis, if we don’t keep going, I will freeze into a human-sized icicle, right here, right now, all respect intended, of course,” I murmur, bowing low to the Draka male standing across from me. His human serf looks wide-eyed at my impertinence of speaking before being spoken to, and the two Draka’s heads swivel towards me. “Please?”

“Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Gwen says, looking down into my face. The afternoon light is fading fast; torches and glow-globes along the route are being lit or placed by serfs in bright jackets and high boots. Her high cheeks are colored by the cold and the glow-globes; her beauty takes my breath away at moments like this. Muhmis’ hand tightens on mine a tiny bit, and I squeeze back, reassured.

Turning back to the young man, Gwen says, in a flat, neutral tone, “Well-met, brother of the Race.”

“Well-met indeed, sister and elder.” He still won’t look her in the eye. I wonder why he’s here, who he’s working for. Have to look into that, although I’m sure Gwen’s transducer is working overtime right now, researching that information for herself. “Elder, a word of advice…”

A coolly raised eyebrow meets his words, and Gwen waits. The tension’s palpable.

“Ah…it’s important to stay on the sides here, since there are several sleds ready to come down by now. They do get quite a bit of speed in through here…just thought you should know. Alfred, come on, let’s go, before you join this saucy little human wench here in becoming an… icicle.” The young man bows his head fractionally toward Gwen, and then hoists Alfred to one shoulder, the sled moving smoothly behind him. Alfred squeaks a little, but holds on, as the Draka begins jogging up the steep incline. He moves as easily as a hunting cheetah; I can’t help but be impressed.

“Interesting…” Muhmis murmurs. “Want to ride my shoulder up there, like that pretty-buck?”

“No! Please! These heights are bad enough on my own two feet. I certainly don’t mind you pulling the sled, though. It’s so big!” I stamp my feet, trying to warm them; my hands are hidden inside deep, fur-lined pockets. I’m glad I put my new heavy cable-knit sweater on underneath all this outerwear. The wind’s picking up as the sun goes down, and the snow on the ground looks bluish. Cold. Shivery.

Her laughter ringing through the thick banks of firs lining the trail, Gwen reaches down and kisses me firmly. “Thanks for being impertinent, by the way. He’s a sullen young pup. Someone soon will definitely have to put him in his place.”

“Not you, I hope. You’re too busy for all that…” I say quietly, as we begin hiking up the side of the trail. The snow’s thicker here, pushed up from the trail itself. Occasionally a branch will quiver and then snap, giving way to gravity, pulling down immense puffs of thick snow as it falls.

“I’m still a Draka, mind you. Remember that, always.” Gwen’s voice is soft, but there’s iron beneath the tone. She’s serious, I think.

I chuckle. “Oh, I do, Gwen. Always.” Inside, the cold little voice that accompanies me says: Do you, always? Or are you hoping that if you believe hard enough, she’ll stop being a predator? Remember, she was designed as one, and humans were, and are, her prey. Always. I shrug the voice silent.

As we pass the halfway mark, lit by a bright, cheery bon-fire, a keening wolf cry of joy, echoed by a yelp of all-too-human fear, announces the arrival of one of the sleds from the top. It slices past us, the Draka kneeling in the back, the human clinging to the Draka. I see a flash of white teeth, in the hungry grin the off-duty Ensign Tostenhaufer beams us, and then they’re gone, leaving a trail of smoke-like snow to settle slowly to the ground. I don’t know who the wench was with Tostenhaufer, but I don’t think she was having a lot of fun.

“Is that how you ride these things?” My voice shakes a little.

Gwen shakes her head. “No, that’s just youthful exuberance. I’ll lie down, you’ll lie down basically on top of me, and we’ll go down the hill—”

“Mountain!”

“—hill, feet first. It’ll be faster that way. Easier to control, as well.” Gwen’s soft laughter reaches my ears. “For being my adjutant, and having all the biomods you do now, I’d think you’d look forward to testing your skills against nature.”

“Throwing myself down a mountainside, in the middle of a blizzard, on a piece of wood, with a sports-crazed Draka, just doesn’t make my day…but I’ll try to have fun, anyway,” I grin. “Although I can think of better things to do during a blizzard…”

“Oh, we’ll do those things, certainly, mia dolce, when we’re done here.” Gwen shifts the sled to her outside shoulder, and gestures for me to move to the side of her away from the track. “Another sled coming down…”

This one is manned by two young humans, whooping and hollering as they speed past. Their faces glow red in the light of the bonfire, and then they’re gone, flashing down the steep incline faster than I could run. The last I see of them is the long, dayglow-orange tassel on one of their hats, streaming out behind them like a flag.

After what seems like hours, but probably isn’t, we reach the top of the mountain. Numerous sleds, about one every five minutes or so, have whisked past us during our climb up. There’s a tiny restaurant perched on top, clinging to it tenaciously despite the blasts of wind. If I thought I was cold down in the valley, I was mistaken: now I’m cold. It’s official. Even Gwen looks a little chilly. She sets the sled down against the side of the house, and we enter.

A blast of warmth almost knocks me off my feet; Gwen, behind me, urges me inward with a carefully placed pinch, managing to get through all my thick clothing…well, she’s a Draka, with Draka strength. I manage to not yelp, and make a relatively graceful entrance, followed by Muhmis. A waitress wench bows very low to Gwen, and nods her head to me, respecting protocol even up here. She guides us to a table, lit by soft candlelight, near a roaring, crackling blaze. 

Sighing in contentment, I look over the menu. Gwen orders some brandy, and I ask for sangria. The drinks are immediately produced, and then we order our meals. It’s homely stuff; homemade bread, stew, weinerschnitzel, pastries for dessert, but it’s all wonderful. My appetite is almost of Draka proportions after the hike up the mountainside, and I tuck into my food with gusto. Gwen demolishes everything set before her with typical single-mindedness, and characteristic neatness. She’s done before I am, and sits back, smiling, watching me eat as she sips her brandy from a crystal snifter.

Outside, the sound of the wind occasionally rises to a shriek as the snowstorm builds in intensity. I shudder slightly, not looking forward to going out in that mess again. Maybe they have bedrooms here? Or I could just curl up here by the fireplace, like a cat, and purr myself to sleep…

“Done, my sweet girl?”

Gwen’s voice pulls me from my warm reverie, and I nod. “Yes, the last meal of the condemned is finished…”

“Oho, don’t sound so doleful…it’ll be fun. Come on, now, buck up.” Her hands stroke mine, and I blush, remembering the last time—this afternoon—when bucking was mentioned. She winks at me, knowing what I’m thinking, and smiles. “I’ll make the trip down something you’ll enjoy, pretty pony.”

“No way!” I blurt, and then cover my mouth with both hands, blushing. “You’d do that, while we’re going…”

“Well,” laughs Gwen, “I could. We could. But I was thinking more about later tonight. I think the sled ride will be quite as thrilling as we want it to be, without adding…more…excitement to it. But that’s an interesting idea…have to think about it.”

“Good grief…” I mutter, face still red, as we stand by the doors. I laboriously put on all my winter clothes, while Gwen slips into her walking blacks, wrapping a bright red scarf around her neck as a decorative touch. Her hair’s securely tied back in her usual club braid, and her eyes look bright and mischievous as we exit the warmth, and comfort, of the building and enter the snowstorm. Our sled’s where she left it, propped against the building; I had had some small hope of it ending up in Italy with help from one of the massive blasts of wind that rocked the house during our meal. Oh, well.

We go to the entrance to the sledding area, and Gwen puts the sled down for the last time. She climbs in, stretching her long, muscular legs out in front of her, and beckons for me to join her. I do so, casting a longing glance at the cheery light coming out of the windows of our restaurant. I slide into the contraption, leaning back against Gwen. My head rests between her breasts, something I definitely don’t mind, and she moves me a bit so that we’re centered in the sled. Her hands on my hips I don’t mind, either. Maybe if I keep my mind on that… But her hands move to hold the guidance cables, and I sigh.

Some assistants—fellow sledders, Draka and a few resilient humans—help us position the sled over the exit ramp. It’s now or never, Elvis sings in my memory, and I burst out in a giggle. Gwen puts her head against mine, and whispers:

“Not getting hysterical, are you?”

“N-n-n-o-o-o, I’m not,” I manage to get out, and then send her the sound clip and image over my transducer. She nods, bemused, I think, and hugs me tightly.

“Humans…” She laughs, softly.

“Ready?” One of the Draka next to us asks.

“Yes!!” Gwen yells, covering my ears with her hands, so warm even in this blizzard of cold and snow, and I feel the tug as the sled’s drawn back, and then the jerk as it’s pushed forward and down, with all the strength of a couple of healthy young homo drakensis behind it. We’ve begun…


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter 7  
**

Firs whip past us in a blur; I stop trying to focus on them and look straight ahead. The wind makes my eyes tear up; of course, I think, Gwen doesn’t have to worry about that. Good thing one of us can see… but at this speed, it’s mostly just luck, anyway. I shudder, grasping Gwen’s thighs with my mittened fists tightly.

Her howl of enjoyment, of meeting a challenge, rockets up into the night sky; the blizzard has stopped, leaving a few clouds that rapidly scud away. The stars shine down brightly enough to light our way almost as well as the torches and glow-globes along the way. Gwen adjusts the sled, using the steering cable and occasional shifts of our bodies to keep us in the best track for the downhill blast.

“Oh, mah lord…” My accent comes back, strong, as we whip past a tree close enough for the lower branches to dump their heavy load of snow on us. I bluster past the coldness and twist, looking back at Gwen… her face is as animated as any child’s at their birthday, and flushed with arousal. Her teeth glint in the intermittent light, and her eyes are sparkling. “You’re enjoying this??”

“Ahia! Gods, yes! You aren’t?” We’re going so fast she has to lean toward me so that I can hear her above the rushing wind…her breath is warm on my cheek. I lean my head against hers, shaking it “no”. She laughs, deeply, the bronze tones ringing out into the silent mountain woods. “Sweetlin’…this is what it’s all about…triumph...danger…joy…”

“Um…” I decide not to say what I think of it. I think she can tell; if she were human, she’d end up with two hand-shaped bruises just above her knees, where I’m hanging on for dear life. My legs press against hers, and I try to relax, putting my head back against her chest.

She hugs me as we hit a straight stretch; both hands not needed for steering, but our speed is rapidly increasing. I wonder how fast we’re going, and then decide I don’t want to know. I snuggle into her arm’s reassuring strength, and close my eyes. Of all the places I ever thought I’d be, I never thought—never dreamed—that I’d be hurtling down a mountainside in Austria with my Draka mistress. Peter would be laughing himself to tears right now, I think…and the pang of pain that shoots through me when I think of how I miss him surprises me, as it always does. How I miss him…

Gwen kisses me, then nips, against my neck, as she disengages her arm from my tight grip. The sled seems to be almost airborne at times as we zoom down the track; she needs both hands now to steer. We can see blurs of people climbing up the mountain, and once Gwen has to jerk us hard to the left to avoid a snowball fight. The players jump out of the way, but it was close—I felt Gwen’s deep intake of breath, and know how hard she pulled the sled to one side. If we had hit one of them…

“If we’d hit one of them, they’d probably land in Italy at this speed. I think we’d be…” Muhmis pulls the sled back to the center of the run easily, her muscles bulging beneath the walking blacks. “…we’d be all right. Jostled…but this sled is well-balanced, and fairly heavy.”

“You’d think,” I answer, the wind blowing my words back to her, “they’d be more careful. It’s not like we have horns or something on this thing…”

“No…but the danger is part of the fun, darlin’…”

“Hmpf.”

Gwen’s legs squeeze me tight in response. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

“OK.” I turn back to look at her, and look over our shoulder. There’s another sled coming down, even faster moving than ours, it seems. “Um, Gwen…”

“Gods above…” She glances back, and then the smile vanishes from her lips. It’s replaced by a thin-lipped snarl; her hair bristles, and I see her eyes widen in anger. I shudder, wishing I could be somewhere else right now, and look back at the sled that’s gaining on us. It’s got a human and a Draka in it, like ours, but the Draka is steering with almost insolent ease…right at us.

“Oh, jeezie petes, he’s gonna hit us…”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Gwen’s voice is cold and angry. I concentrate for a long moment, clearing my head of the fear as well as I can, and take a long look, querying my transducer at the same time. It replies: Albrecht Vashon, Tetrarch, Earth/3 political committee, aide to Felice Vashon. Aha… so that’s Albert, I remember, in the sled with him. Poor guy. I realize, Hey, I’m in the same damn position, so why in the world am I feeling bad for him?

Why? Because I have an unquestioning faith in Gwen to pull us the hell out of this, that’s why. I grip the sides of the sled, hunkering down to make the center of gravity closer inside. Gwen’s legs have splayed out to the sides of the wooden sled, helping to control it. Her hands grip the control cables like a pair of steel claws, and we skitter from side to side along the track. Every move we make, Albrecht Vashon counters, closing in. He can’t be serious, I think. No way…how can he do this?

His high-pitched hunting cry comes to us as his sled closes in. I shiver, and glance backwards. I wish I could do something other than just sit here, waiting for something to happen, damn it. My hands clench in the snow that was dumped in to our sled a few moments ago…

Automatically, I make a snowball. I pack it as hard as I can, using the strength from the modifications Gwen’s given me to crunch the snowball into a hard, ice-bound ball. “Gwen…”

“Not now…”

“No…I have a plan. Keep doing what you’re doing…”

Her head snaps toward mine, teeth bared. I’ve never contradicted her in the midst of a hunting rage; never wanted to. Never had to. But this time… “Damn it, Gwen, Muhmis, listen, don’t just react. I have a plan. I need you to keep steering. OK?”

Her snarl rumbles deep in her chest; she opens her mouth to reply, pauses, looking down at the growing pile of snowballs in my lap. Then she nods, her face still set in a mask of god-like anger. “Good idea. Do it. Try to spare the pretty-buck; this is none of his concern.”

I turn, with my pile of ice-covered snowballs, until I’m facing Gwen. From Albrecht’s point of view, it probably looks like I’m freaking out, trying to get out of the sled. But that’s the last thing I have on my mind. I look deeply into Gwen’s eyes, those deep pools of leaf-green, edged now with white, and glittering with anger, and wink. She blinks in surprise, and almost smiles.

The first snowball catches Albrecht in the chest. It surprises him, and the smooth curl of his sled toward ours is jolted into a rough-edged bumpy ride down some old ruts in the snow. My second, unfortunately, whacks poor Albert up side the head, and I gasp in dismay as he silently slumps over in the sled. This, however, has the effect of making Vashon’s sled off-balance, and he slows down, allowing us to increase our lead visibly.

“Sorry ‘bout that…” I mutter to myself. If these damn Draka want to fight, why can’t they leave us out of it? My next snowball is a direct hit on Albrecht Vashon’s nose, and I am pleased to note a brief dribble of blood. His scream of outrage is chilling, though, and I instinctively move closer against Muhmis. “Um, if you don’t get us out of this, Muhmis, I won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell…”

“If I don’t get us out of this little predicament, I’m not fit to be Archon.” Her voice is grim. Our sled moves with a silken grace, rushing past people climbing up, past glow-globes and torches, past trees dark in the night. The neutral stars shine down, lighting the snow in an unearthly brightness that would be beautiful if I wasn’t so frightened. I thought I was scared before…

I grasp another snowball, and launch it toward his sled. He avoids it easily, and yells. “You just wait, little wench, till I get ahold of you…”

“Neener neener neener…ththththththtt!” I yell back, ignoring words for a childhood chant and a great Bronx raspberry. Jennifer would be proud of me, I think, that was my best, ever. I feel Gwen moving against me, and realize she’s laughing out loud.

“Not a very diplomatic exchange, but quite effective, Erin…” Muhmis chuckles, and then grasps me firmly around the waist with one arm. “Now, hang on tight.”

“Wha—” The sled seems to move out from underneath us, and my heart jumps into my throat. Gwen leans over, holding me, until we’re almost tipping the sled over on its side. The speed we’ve been adding sloughs off, and Albrecht, with the motionless Albert across his legs, zips by us. Gwen almost immediately tilts us over the other way, and somehow picks the sled up with her arms, boosting us down the slope with an intense rush of strength.

My arms are still tight around her when I realize what she’s done—now we’re the hunter, not the hunted. I kiss her resoundingly on the lips, yipping a Rebel Yell into the dark woods. She laughs, and then gives out a call of her own, one I’ve heard her use when she’s been hunting on Mars or here on Earth/2… a high, hawk-like shriek that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My brain still remembers the cry of the hunter in the night…

Carefully, I turn around and lean against her again. Vashon’s sled is now speeding down the mountainside, but he’s having trouble steering; Albert’s poor unconscious body is sliding around in the sled. I hope he’s just unconscious, I think…wincing. I really didn’t mean to hit him. Have to work harder at target practice. He’ll be okay…

Albrecht suddenly dumps Albert out into the snow, like a dock worker dumping a bag of potatoes out from the hold of a ship. The human’s body tumbles, loose-limbed, into the drifts of snow, and is momentarily hidden. Albrecht whoops and kneels in his sled, urging it to faster and faster speeds. The steepest part of the trail is just ahead, I remember. My god…

“Muhmis…”

“I know. I’ve already targeted the pretty-buck’s position, and there’s help on its way. We can’t stop; we’re too far past him already. Sit down, don’t worry about any more snowballs, and hold on tight, wench. Now.” The snap of Command is in her voice, and I obey, instantly. I still keep the stash of snowballs next to me, though, just in case. We continue to gain on the other’s sled, despite every effort of his to speed up. He glances back occasionally, his face set in a grimace of hatred. His fair hair streams out behind him like an unholy halo; even though he’s a Vashon, he still has the tremendous Draka beauty that all of them seem to have.

Gwen maneuvers us until we’re right behind him, and not more than ten feet away. “Still want to play your little game, young pup?” Her voice is cold.

“It was never a game, you…dinosaur…” he calls out. “You should have stayed retired, damn you to the seven hells.”

“Hmm…career advice from someone who’s not fit to tie my bootlaces. Interesting. You’ve insulted me, and I claim recompense.” To me: “Put your hands inside the sled. Quickly.” We swerve toward his sled, and instead of trying to guide his away, Albrecht turns into us. I barely have time to wrap my mittens around Muhmis’ thighs when we collide.

An open hand slaps my face, and my head bounces bruisingly hard against Gwen’s bust. That had to hurt, I have time to think quite unemotionally and calmly, and then the world goes red. Then black. 

**  
I wake to gentle shaking, and Gwen’s concerned voice. “Erin? Erin, my sweet, mia dolce, wake up now…”

“Urk?”

“Good, darlin’…wake up. Wake up now…look at me.” Her hands hold my face, and they feel so warm against my chilled skin. I revel in the feeling for a moment, and then blink my eyes open. We’re sitting in the snow, our sled next to us. There’s a long scratch along one side…spatters of blood. My nose hurts.

“By nose hurds.”

“I know. It’s broken. We’ll get it fixed, right away. Try to focus for me, Erin. Look at my finger, and try to focus.”

“Ah can fodus…id’s oday. I’mb oday, Gwen.” I shake my head, trying to clear it, and little droplets of blood pattern the snow around us. “Where’s whad’s-hid-nambe?”

“Over there…by the trees. He’s of no concern to you, or me, anymore. Albert’s on the way to the medical clinic. Do you think you can ride the rest of the way down, or should I call for a floater?”

I glance over where the toss of her head has indicated the whereabouts of Albrecht, and my eyes widen. His limp body…the shaft of the tree poking through…I gag, reflexively. Gwen holds my head for a moment, and then gives me a handful of snow to eat. “I’ll call for a floater, Erin. Don’t worry.”

“No…no, Muhmis, I’ll be fine. I just wasn’t expecting…I didn’t think…um, that you did that to each other…you know…” At least getting sick has cleared my nose out some. I don’t look over to where the young Draka’s body still twitches and twists in final reflexes, steam rising…

“Rare, but it seemed…appropriate. I hope his aunt is satisfied. Damn Felice. Of course, there’s no direct tie, but this is all a power challenge. He was young, fast and she thought good enough to challenge me. Granted, I did lose my temper a bit after he hit you…” Gwen helps me stand up. There are long scratches, now pink and healing, along the sides of her throat; hand marks, where someone tried to choke her.

“God, Gwen…” I reach out and touch, gently.

“It’s all right, little ‘un. Come on, now—you’re getting cold and wet here in the snow. Let’s get you home and next to a nice warm fire…”

“Or a nice warm Muhmis…” I smile up at her. She kisses me softly and smiles.

“That, too…”

Gwen helps me into the sled, and I eat another mouthful of snow. A sled comes down, the riders whooping, and suddenly I’m afraid again. Deeply afraid; I shake uncontrollably. Gwen’s arms around me help hold me steady, but I feel frustrated as hot tracks of tears begin to make their way down my face. “S-s-s-sorry…”

“Ssssaaaa…my little wildcat. It’s all right, shhhh…” The sledders slide past us, yelling greetings and jokes about our sledding ability. Then they spot the body, and the wreck of the other sled, and become silent. Their sled shushes to a sudden stop, and two young Draka leap out.

“Archon? Archon? Is there anything we can do?” The first to reach us is an older man, Senric Mardwen; his companion, a younger man whose name I can’t place for long moments--maybe my transducer got scrambled, I wonder-- Philip Olson, joins us. Both from Prime Line, both in the Space Corps. Worried expressions on their faces—this is a serious matter, always is, to Draka.

“No, we’re fine. You can take the body down; it may be too upsetting for some of the saaf’n to see. It’s all been taken care of, though. I don’t take challenges lightly. Ever.” Gwen’s voice is firm, but reassuring. She feels so good when she holds me like this, I think, and close my eyes.

“Sure? Your wench looks like she needs some medical attention, Archon…” Firm hands hold my face still, and I blink back to awareness again. 

“She’ll be fine. I have medical staff here…we’ll go down the mountain more quickly this way, anyway, and I can handle her. Thanks, though, you two. I do appreciate your concern.”

“That Vashon bastard’s been stepping on more toes than your own, Archon. I’m not sad to see him taken care of. He had a bad reputation to begin with.” Olson sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. His fingers stroke my face briefly, and then he pats me lightly on the shoulder. “She’s a loyal little human, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She is.” Gwen smiles down at me, and kisses my forehead. My eyes seem to close again of their own accord…like someone pulling the blinds down in a room…and I sleep.

**  
“Is she all right?” Jennifer asks.

I nod; Erin’s still sleeping, but the swelling around the nose is going down. “The enhanced healing facility and the nanites between them are taking care of it,” I say. “It’s related to the overdrive facility the biocontrol people added. Interesting to see how it’s interacting with human biochemistry – it’s certainly made her more aggressive – and to see how it affects her behavior otherwise.”

I remember the incident on the sled and growl, and the human swallows a little. “Not angry with you,” I say. “Or with anyone living. It’s just annoyance that that old feud keeps coming back to bite me.”

I pace, while Jennifer stays sitting on the edge of the bed, her face marked with concern as she looks down at her sleeping friend. Interesting, I think. Jennifer hasn’t started her rejuv for the second lifetime yet; with Domination medical care, she looks like a well-kept forty or so, by old human standards. Relaxed in sleep, Erin might be nineteen again…

“You’ve been doing well, while I was distracted with the war,” I say – she deserves it, her and the rest of the command team. I check their locations with my transducer; Tom is away on a long wilderness trip with Tomin, and very happy – I get a glimpse of white water beyond the bow of a canoe. Shawonda is sitting in a lounger in the garden, at Gwendolyn Hall, sleeping with a smile on her face, a brooder’s hormonal bliss smoothing out the lines of her high-cheeked face.

“We’re having a few problems though,” Jennifer says. “The transducer-credit system is working well, but there are… ummmm, general morale problems.”

“Oh?” I say.

“The number of Draka resident here on Earth/2 went up a lot, with the military preparations – there are four-point-seven-two-seven million now. That’s more than we expected at this point, and people are starting to realize that their chances of being claimed as saafn are going up steeply. It was mostly volunteers, for a good long while, but now with the immigration, and the first generation of locally born Draka growing up and starting their own households, there’s a lot more just getting… swept up.”

“You were swept up,” I grin. “And you’ve become adequately tame.”

“Well, yes, of course, Muhmis – although there was a while when I was… agitated.”

“I thought you were going to go barking mad,” I say. “Of course, the concepts were still very strange to you, back before the Opening and the conquest…” I grin at her, and she flushes. “It was fun breaking you to my yoke, though.”

“Once I accepted it, yes,” she says, clearing her throat. “So do most of the new saafn, once it’s happened. It’s the waiting that gets people… agitated.”

“Hmmm,” I say. “Surely the educational programs have been doing some good?”

“Yes,” she says seriously, nodding. “With the younger generation.”

“Well, their elders will gradually die off,” I say. “Tell me if there’s any actual agitation.”

“More of a spreading melancholy, Muhmis.”

“That we can tolerate. Take off your clothes.”

“Ummm –” She’s a little surprised, but her hands obey automatically, folding the garments on the bedside dresser. “Here, Muhmis?”

“It is my bedroom, and it’s a big bed,” I say. “Move over to the other side.”

“What if Erin wakes up?”

“Just what she needs, at this stage of her convalescence.” 

I take her scent; warm, musky, beautifully responsive to my pheromones – and to me, after all these years. A flush spreads down her throat, over her full breasts as she lies back with her arms above her head. She gives a shuddering moan as I slide onto her and growl again, close to her face, teasing, weighing her down, then rear back and grip her suddenly, just below the edge of pain…

I do have that fight to wear off.

**

Waking, I seem to float towards the surface of a brightly-lit pool, effortlessly… suddenly, I’m aware of someone curled up next to me; a moment’s thought tells me it’s not a Draka, since I’m not bathed in the warmth of their body temp. I roll over, slowly, sliding my arm around the sleeping, tousel-haired woman.

“Mmmhhh?” Jennifer murmurs. I smile, and kiss her softly.

Through my transducer, I select some music—send it to the stereo system in Gwen’s bedroom—I have managed to open my eyes, and realize that’s where I am. The oversized, built-for-Draka bed… the feeling of being in her space. It’s old music now, I think…Loreena McKinnett…the hypnotic rhythm of Irish music and drums begins to fill the silence.

Jennifer stirs, opening her eyes and smiling up at me. “You look much better, dahling…”

“Why, thank you.” I kiss her again. And again.

“You must be feeling better, too…you didn’t really wake up the entire time Muhmis and I were, well, you know.” She blushes. 

I grin down at her. “No…I was a little tired. I’m not now. How about you?” My hands begin to caress, stroke…explore.

“Ahhh… umm…oy, vey, woman…” Jenny reaches her hands behind my neck and pulls me down for another kiss. “Not too tired for that…”

“Good…” The music forms a backdrop, silken and throbbing, for our afternoon. We spend it getting to know each other again, after years of passing friendship and occasional closeness. After months of coolness, neither of us knowing how to handle my divorce from Alice. That coolness disappears in the Alpine light, in the bed of our Mistress… 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter 8  
**  
“I still can’t believe we slid down that mountain and weren’t mashed into a blob or something, Gwen,” I chuckle, running my hand over her head. She’s sitting at her desk, feet propped up on the teak, with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Your ideas of fun…I swear. It’s dangerous to be around you sometimes.”

Gwen murmurs assent as she sips slowly. “Yes, sometimes. But that’s the way—”

“You’re wired. I know. I just wish sometimes you’d hire a contractor to check out that wiring and maybe redo some of it?” I place the stack of data disks, each about the size of an adult human’s thumbnail, in front of her. “Here are the reports from the Prime Council you requested. The monetary stuff’s a little hard for me to follow, but Jenny promises to explain all to me.”

“If you’ll let her catch her breath, I’m sure she will.” Muhmis grins lasciviously at me. “I’ve been keeping you both busy recently, haven’t I? Then when I’m not tupping her, you are.”

“Jest them biomods, Muhmis. All your fault, anyway!” I lean over and kiss her, firmly, on the lips. As it begins to turn into more than just a kiss, the door chimes. My transducer responds, and Alois’ voice and image appear before my eyes, translucent in the morning sun. “Alois! What are you doing home from school?”

I key the door open from Gwen’s desk as she scrambles (gracefully) to her feet. “Alois?”

“Hi, Ma! Hi, Tantie-ma!” He bounds into the room, his eyes bright. His dark blue school uniform—tunic and trousers, black boots, black kepi—show off his athletic form; he’s taller than I am now by quite a bit. We’d been the same height when he left for school a couple of years ago, I think. He tosses his satchel onto a couch and runs into a hug from his surprised mother.

After a moment, she lets him go, running her hand through his thick blonde hair hanging down over his forehead. “Is this the style nowadays, or do you need a haircut?” she asks with a smile.

“Ma…” He rolls his eyes expressively and then holds his hands out to me. “Hug?”

“Sure!” I put my arms around his shoulders and squeeze; his arms around my ribcage do the same thing, and he lifts me off the floor easily. “Aaack!”

“Please don’t break your Tantie-ma, darlin’…” Gwen chides gently.

The young man laughs and gently puts me down. “Never in a million years! I’m home because I won some goofy old award, and got extra leave. It’s okay, isn’t it? I thought about calling, but I wanted to surprise everyone. Is it OK, Ma?”

“Yes, indeed, my son. What award?” Gwen reclines again, at her leopard ease, in her tall-backed desk chair, hands steepled. Her eyes hold his with a steady leaf-green stare; one eyebrow is cocked slightly. The sunlight through the swaying trees outside puts dappled shadows and bright splashes of color across the wooden floor and up onto us.

“Oh…um…just the Archon’s Award for Excellence in Academics.” He says it off-handedly, but his eyes betray his pride. The award, given each year to two Draka in each learning level—equivalent in most respects to our grades, I remember—is a huge honor and extremely difficult to get. Not only is this an important award for Alois—it’s good for his mother, too, politically speaking, I think to myself. People notice these things, and notice when excellence in various fields seems to happen around you.

“Great gods! That, you should have told me! Oh, Alois, I’m so proud for you! Very proud, indeed!” Gwen gets back up and offers him her arm; they armclasp like Draka adults…which, after all, Alois is considered to be, according to Draka law. But she did it to emphasize how she sees him as being grown-up, and deserving of adult rewards. Adult challenges, too, says the tiny voice in the back of my mind. Lots of those, too. 

“Well, Ma…I dunno…I just thought I’d tell you in person. Here’s the medal—it’s pretty edgy.” He fishes it out of his belt, a thick engraved golden circle, with a ruby drake in the center. The ribbon is long and black, with a red stripe down the middle. He puts it into his mother’s hands with a grin. “Thanks, Ma, for pushing me to do well. I needed it. Now I know what you meant, you and Alexandra and Ariadne.”

“ ‘Dunno’? ‘Edgy’? ” Gwen turns the medal over in her hand, reading the inscription. I crane my neck to see, and she notices, and holds it closer to me so I can see…not that it does me any good, right off, since the damn thing’s in Greek. I tell my transducer to record and translate later. “New slang, light of my heart?”

“Naw…” Gwen’s eyes spear him, and he swallows. “Um, no. It’s old slang, actually. Lots of people use it in school. I guess I’ve picked up some bad habits that way…”

“Just try not to sound like a freighter captain. You’re not.” Muhmis leans over and kisses his forehead. A bright blush spreads from his neck upward, easily noticeable in his pale complexion. Pale must be “in”, I think. Sometimes I wonder who keeps up with all the trends, or if anyone can. Gwen’s adjusted her coloring so she’s her usual dark tan, which sets off her eyes and hair so well. I’m tanned, too, since I found out if I go for the pale look, I end up looking like an anemic vampire.

“Yes, Mother.”

“So how long are you allowed leave? Going to spend it all here, chasing the poor house servants?” I ask, with a wink. 

“A whole week. I have to report back a week from tomorrow, since we’re starting the selection process for branch of service. I want Space Force.” He takes the medal back from Gwen and casually stuffs it back into his belt; I bet he sleeps with it…still a kid at heart. I wish they’d all find some way to stay that way. Gwen lets the kid in her out sometimes, but rarely—I could count on both hands the number of times she’s done that around me, and I’ve been with her for over 20 years now.

“Of course you do. Doesn’t every Ingolfsson? What’s the deal with that? Is it some sort of family tradition?” I grin. “No one seems to want to volunteer to do administrative duty, or embassy duty, or…”

“Blah! How boring!”

“There, Erin, you have the answer. The ones who eventually end up as diplomats, security officers, and administrators are old enough to appreciate their positions; the young wildcats just want to get out and stir things up. Good enough…” Gwen grins.

“Ma, I…um… need to go check on my serfs, make sure they’re settling in, unpacking my stuff…you know. Stuff like that. I just couldn’t wait until lunch to see you both, though…hope I didn’t interrupt any important work or anything…” He shifts from foot to foot, something unusual in a Draka. Usually they are the most still people in the room; Alois is practically dancing.

His mother glances ever so slightly at the floor, and his feet stop moving. Well, his left foot continues to tap a staccato rhythm, but he’s not bouncing anymore. “No, Alois, you didn’t interrupt any business. That’s fine…run along, check on your serfs…we’ll be eating on the pool terrace in an hour or so. Hopefully you’ll be done…checking…by then, won’t you?” Her grin widens, and I chuckle out loud, catching her drift.

If I thought Alois turned red before, I was mistaken. He really turns red, fire hydrant red, and then grins back, his teeth gleaming in his pale face. “Ahia, well, you see…that is…Ma, you sure can pick out good ones…I brought the two back here that you gave me for my birthday last year, Viktor and Claudia. The two other serfs are at school still, so I left them there with a friend to watch them.”

“That’s fine, sweetlin’…run along, now. See you in a bit. Have fun.” Gwen strokes a finger along the side of his face, affectionately, and he bows slightly to her, leers at me, and scampers out of the room, hair flying behind him like a blond mane.

“What a surprise!” I say, after the door shushes behind him. “A whole week!”

“Will the staff be able to survive?” Gwen laughs. “Or sit down?”

“He is quite…all grown up now…isn’t he?” I reply. “Seems like it was just yesterday that he and I were playing on the sand down at Andros, or flying kites in Central Park, or skating…now he’s a man. Amazing.”

“You were a wonderful influence on him, as well as on Alexa and Ari, Erin. Thank you.” Gwen puts her arms around me. “I appreciate you.” 

I lean my head against her shoulder. “But I feel old now…”

“Old?” The Draka throws her head back and laughs out loud, shaking both of us with the force of her merriment. “Darlin’…you don’t know old, yet. Believe me!” Her bronze laughter finally slows, and she cups my chin in her hand, tilting my face to meet hers. “You do know sensuous, though…mmmhhh…”

**  
“How are the negotiations going, Ma? People think it’s pretty interesting back on Prime Line, but it’s like there are two completely different groups…or ways of thinking about it. They either hate it completely or like it a tremendous amount. I guess most Citizens here like it, or they’d leave, wouldn’t they?” Alois stretches out long, lean, muscular legs under the ironwork table, clad only in a brief robe of blue terrycloth. The servants begin to clear the lunch dishes away, working silently and discretely. They’re well-trained, I think. Alice did a good job. Then I stifle the thoughts about Alice…

Interesting, I muse. He’s starting already to take notice of politics. Neither Alexandra nor Ariadne really cared that much about them when they were his age. He’s sharp, though…

“Good, you actually use that head of yours for something other than a wench or pretty buck tracking device...” Gwen laughs. She’s in a good mood today, for some reason; she’s certainly kept me on my toes, physically and otherwise. “I, too, know about the factions, and you’re right, Alois, they’re pretty much polar opposites. You’ll get a firsthand chance to hear some of the behind the scenes chit-chat tonight, when Commander David Packard and his aide, Lieutenant Emily Richardson, stop by for dinner.”

“Oh, wow. Cool.”

I sigh. “Dear, please…”

“But Tantie-ma…”

Gwen speaks up. “Alois, refrain from slang for a whole day, starting now—twenty-four hours—and I’ll give you a present.”

“What?”

She smiles that secret, closed-in, enigmatic curve of the lips of hers and shakes her head, no. “That’s for me to know, and possibly for you to find out. If you can…surmount the challenge.”

“Aw…no fair. Well…OK. I can do it. I promise not to use anymore slang for twenty-four hours, starting right now.” He sits up, and takes a long sip of wine. “OK, Tantie-ma? Or were you in on this, too?”

“Not I,” I say, with a smile. “Muhmis, since the Samothracians are visiting, shouldn’t we go over some of the ground work now, before they get here?”

“This is mainly a social pleasantry visit, darlin’…more politicking than politics, if you know what I mean. I don’t think I need to brief you on anything…” Her eyes go blank for a moment, and then refocus on me with their direct, predator’s vision. “No. We’re all caught up; the proposals have been presented to both sides, and now we have to wait on the eventual votes or decisions by Archonal Council. That’s the hard part.”

“No, the hard part was getting y’all to sit down and talk like civilized hu—” I clear my throat, turning a bit red. “Like civilized beings.”

“The Bugs helped there, didn’t they? I wish I had been old enough to fight, like Alexandra, Patrick, Ariadne and May did…I’d have…um…done quite well against them.” Alois stops himself, but I know, as sure as I’m sitting here, that he was about to say “I’d have opened a can a’whup-ass on ‘em!” Ah, the sins of my youth are revisiting me—all the phrases I taught him. It was funny when a two year old Draka wandered around saying it, though…

“Quite right. But Erin here did an exemplary job organizing the talks, especially the preliminary ones. We have a great deal to thank her for, young ‘un…she’s a very special saafn.” Gwen smiles at me over her wine goblet, and her left leg finds its way between my knees for a brief but startling caress.

“I live to serve, Muhmis.” I down the last of my wine, and hold out my glass for more. If I don’t have to do a briefing tonight, then I can enjoy some wine now. With my speeded up metabolism, due to the biomods, wine really doesn’t have a tremendous effect on me, but this is an excellent vintage and I can relax a bit. I sit back in the wrought-iron chair and watch clouds drift by as Gwen and Alois discuss school and who’s dating whom. I’m sure Alois will catch me up later—he always does.

**  
Jenny comes in while Erin and I give the disks a quick once-over. “Oh,” she says, stopping. “I’m not interrupting? There wasn’t a privacy marker.”

Oh, yes, we didn’t bother to dress again, did we? I think. Then I catch Jenny’s scent… she’s much more tousled than she usually is in public too. My mouth falls open a little as I inhale, and I begin to laugh.

“No, we were working, believe it or not… and you ran into Alois.”

She blushes charmingly. “No secrets near a Draka’s nose! Yes, he came by bouncing with joy about the award – isn’t it wonderful? – and I gave him a hug and suddenly…”

“He was bouncing you with joy,” I chuckle. “Well, let’s talk about the disks. Somebody has to get some work done around here.”

With affectionate cruelty I pull her down on my lap as we access the data. She has done well. “Hmmm. This property tax on landholdings is really starting to produce, and the serf head-tax.”

“Yes, it is – well, a third of the planet’s been claimed now,” she says. “A little over a third of the population. Not counting colonists and Space Force personnel and such.”

“Good. Speaking of that, how’re the costing estimates on the Epsilon Eridani colony going?”

“It’s still a lot cheaper than terraforming Venus,” she says. “Even with the molehole platform and the power link. I think we should go — nnnngh!”

Her breasts are warm and soft in my hands. There are red marks on the smooth pale olive skin. “He wasn’t rough with you, was he?”

“Oh, no, Muhmis – just friendly and energetic. It was fun, really.” Then a wail. “Oh, that was a good suit! 

I throw the shredded blue fabric aside and pull her back against me, opening my knees to spread hers. “Misplaced thrift,” I say. She lays her head back against my shoulder.

“God, I’m going to be a complete puddle this afternoon,” she groans.

“Think of it as working up an appetite for lunch,” I say, as Erin comes and kneels on the soft rug before my office chair.

Lunch is excellent, after a shower and a swim…

**  
“Commander, Lieutenant, welcome to Gwendolyn Hall. I’m honored to have you here as guests. My house and property are yours to enjoy,” Gwen says formally. She’s clad in a long white gown, off the shoulder, and her hair is done up in a Grecian curl, with little wisps hanging down by her neck and over her forehead. Like a come-to-life version of Artemis, or Demeter, perhaps, I think. Barefoot, she’s still taller than Commander David Packard by several inches.

The two Samothracians bow rather uncomfortably; I see a twinkle in Emily’s eyes, though, as I look up from my bow through my eyelashes. She sees the humor in all this; I hope she doesn’t lose that faculty when she becomes older. So many people do; they get stuck in ruts like a tractor in a hog field. I smile to myself at that…Gwen doesn’t give me a chance to get fossilized.

“Please, everyone, relax. This is a social visit. Welcome to my Household,” Muhmis murmurs, and we all sort of take a deep breath and let it out. Gwen takes my hand and leads us to the dining hall. It’s a small one on the second floor, a more intimate one used mostly when family’s here. The main one downstairs could easily fit over one hundred people inside; it’s used for State occasions.

As we walk through the house, Gwen points out different things—art work, local woods used to build her Landholding, holographs of some of the horses she’s raised over the last couple of decades, in between everything else. Several Triple Crown holders among them…and her stud farm’s in constant demand. I find the whole horse thing a little confusing, but at least I’ve learned how to ride, after a fashion. The first few weeks were…painful for me, hilarious for Gwen. But she never laughed when she knew I really had landed hard.

That’s one thing you can say for her, I silently think to myself as I watch Gwen demonstrating some new holographic displays of the terraforming going on Marside. She’s not sadistic; she will do what she has to do, by the dictates of her culture, and her biology, but she doesn’t enjoy hurting those she protects. Or possibly plans on protecting…I watch how she moves next to Emily, and wonder. No, Emily wouldn’t do it…not in a million years. No serf there…but hell, twenty-some-odd (very odd) years ago, I never expected to be a serf, either. Hell.

David Porter winces slightly at some of the murals; they’re quite…realistic. One in particular, a ghouloon trampling a prone Alliance for Democracy soldier, in the rubble of what appears to be New York, is pretty damn horrific. The American flag shoulder patch always bothers me, but Gwen’s honesty painted it in. After all, the Draka won, so they should be able to display their pride. Winners always do.

“That’s you!” gasps Emily, turning bright red as she looks back and forth between me and the next painting; it’s of me, nude except for a collar and a leash, leaning back on my hands in Gwen’s bed. Yepper, not one you really want your grandmother looking at, but the technical work in the painting is pretty good. I think Gwen idealized me a little, but that’s just my humble opinion.

“Yes, that’s me, Emily. And here’s the dining room, let’s go! I’m starved, aren’t you? Have a good transit here?” I take her hand and lead her into the room, smiling as I chatter. Her coloring finally begins to return to normal, thank goodness—there for a moment, I thought she might faint. A little, well, parochial, these Samothracians. Just a little. Puritan…

David and Gwen follow us into the room, and servants guide us to our places. The table’s set with Limoges chinaware, and decanters of sherry, goblets of wine, as well as the main course, await us. The roast pheasant, the fresh vegetables, the soups…all disappears in a surprisingly short time. Even the Samothracians seem to have enjoyed it. Alois has joined us a few minutes late, hurrying in with a grin on his hard-edged, handsome young man’s face.

“Sorry! Got to talking with some of the Household serfs…” His eyes catch mine, and see the smirk in them. “Really, just talking, about old stuff, and how people’ve been while I’ve been gone, and then I realized…”

“That’s fine. We saved you some. Eat up, my busy young son.” Gwen smiles indulgently over her dessert, while David and Emily peck at theirs. I polish mine off just after Gwen finishes hers; my metabolism isn’t as high as hers, but it’s close. Far higher than either of the two Samothracians sitting beside us, that’s for sure, I smile to myself. They’re too full to want to move much…is that part of Gwen’s plan? Fill them with good food, fine wines, and then pop a question or an idea their way, when they can’t dodge it? Hmmm…

Emily and Alois are soon comparing the pluses and minuses of the two different schooling systems, and I’m content to sit back and let Gwen and David talk horses for a while. A pretty young wench brings the coffee service over, and serves me a steaming cup full of Kenya Blue Mountain; I inhale the delicious odor with a sigh of contentment, closing my eyes for a moment.

“Looks like someone else has enjoyed their dinner,” I hear; Gwen’s hand on the back of my neck startles me, since with my eyes shut, I didn’t know she had moved from her seat. She runs fingers through my hair, and goes on:

“Let’s adjourn to the library; it’s more comfortable, and also more…defended against any eavesdropping. I’d like to spend some time talking with both of you tonight, with Erin. May my son sit in, or would you rather he meet us for breakfast?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I have no problem with his presence. Do you, Lieutenant?” Commander Packard finishes his coffee, setting the cup in the saucer with a precise clipping noise. Emily shakes her head no, and with that decided, we move into the paneled library. I’m shocked—this is one of Gwen’s private spaces, not open to everyone in the Household, let alone guests, and these are Samothracian guests, no less. My face must show some sign of the wonder, since she lets the others go in first.

“Yes, they’re allowed into my inner sanctum. This is an important gesture, and I think David knows it. This may be more important, in the long run, than some of those interminable negotiations speeches we’ve suffered through. Yes?” Gwen’s hand has stayed on the back of my neck, caressing.

“Your will, Muhmis. I was just…surprised. That’s all. The dinner went well. Emily’s really hitting it off well with Alois, isn’t she?”

“Pretty little wench…” Gwen whispers to me, her fingers tracing a delicate pattern of heat on my back as we walk into the room. “My son, of course, has good taste…”

“But timing…” I chuckle, recalling his dash into the dining room.

“Comes with practice, my dear. Lots of practice…” answers my owner, returning my smile. 

We join the others by the fireplace, in comfortable chairs, or, in my case, my favorite rug by Gwen’s chair. Emily looks askance at that, as if it made her uncomfortable, and I wonder if I shouldn’t have reconsidered, and sat on the couch by David. But this is my spot, has been for years, and I like it. Plus, Gwen strokes my hair this way, and everyone who knows me knows I love that more than almost anything else. Must have been a cat in a former life, I think to myself, settling against the side of Gwen’s chair, feeling her hand on the crown of my head.

“Well, now, what would you like as an apéritif? Brandy, wine, coffee…anything you like. Pierre, I’ll have my usual brandy. Alois, would you like some?” Gwen delights her son by offering him some of her VSOP cognac, and soon everyone who wants something to drink (I don’t, being full), has something enjoyable in their hands. 

“This is a lovely, truly lovely place you have here. Thank you, Pierre,” David says, accepting the Irish coffee handed to him. Pierre, a white smile in his ebony face, lit by disconcertingly yellow eyes, smiles and bows, first to the guests and then more deeply, hands over his face, to his Muhmis. She waves him up, and sends him along, with complements to the cooking staff.

“Thank you. It’s feeling like home now, after a few years. It’s a lovely area of the country, really.” Gwen replies. “I’m so glad you two could join us, for the weekend. I do want you to enjoy yourselves while you’re here. Anything you need, or want, just ask. Don’t be…shy.” She smiles directly at Emily, who blushes a little and looks away, toward the shelves of books lining the walls.

“Thanks,” David answers, and a short silence settles over us. Not an uncomfortable one, but a noticeable one; Alois shifts somewhat in his chair, and I hear his voice through my transducer:

Um. Is anything wrong? How come no one’s talking, Tantie-Ma? And…that’s a beautiful sweater you’re wearing. I’ve never seen it before. New?

Yes, darlin’, from Jennifer. No, I think we’re all just sort of feeling the temperature, so to speak, and then we’ll start talking. Silences aren’t necessarily bad things. You shouldn’t push something like this. A few years ago, no one would have believed this was possible, you know? This is sort of historic in a way.

Yes, indeed. For a moment, I am shocked by the resemblance to his mother, who sits above me, watching our faces. I check—she’s monitoring us, but not contributing. 

Hey, what do you think, Muhmis? Everything going well? As planned?

A chuckle resonates inside my head. Yes, sweet. As planned.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

**  
“The negotiations are going well, Archon,” Commander Packard says, as he stands, hands clasped behind his back, looking through the shelves of Gwen’s book collection. Emily nods, her eyes on Alois. He’s looking back, and with interest. I wonder if she knows what she’s doing…

“Please, David, call me Gwen. You, too, Emily. I think we are all familiar enough with each other to do that, don’t you?” Gwen reclines in her chair, her hand on my head. I’m sitting next to her chair, on the floor, my legs crossed and arms around my knees.

“Why, thank you, Gwen.” David turns back to us. The firelight sparkles in his eyes, and I suddenly realize how handsome he is, even in the rather boring gray and green undress uniform of the armed forces of Samothrace. “So what would you like to talk about? I think this is what the business types here call ‘quality time’, isn’t it, Erin?”

“Yes.” I grin. “Not that I’m much of a business type.”

“I’d like to talk about the emigration process, David. We need to focus more on that in the next few sessions, and I’d like to know your feelings about it. Your honest ones, not your political ones, of course.” Gwen’s hand strokes through my hair, and I lean against her legs.

“We’re certainly open to receiving more humans from this Earth,” David says quietly. “Quotas can be adjusted. We’re positive about that. It’s more of a question of your letting them leave, isn’t it?”

“To a degree. There is some growing uneasiness here; due to the increased presence of Draka, since the war…the older humans are worried about being acquired. When we first arrived, it really wasn’t much of an issue. Of course, we did have to stamp down a few brushfires, but nothing drastic. Nothing near the level of subjugation the Prime Line world went through, after the Final War.”

“Thank God for that…” Emily blurts, and then blushes. “Sorry.”

“No, dear—it’s all right. We’re trying to be honest here, with each other, and I appreciate your candor. I was on some of the killsweeps, myself, and fighting a guerilla war against people who’d rather die than surrender can be…painful. It was messy, to be sure.” Gwen stares into the fire for a long moment, lost in memories.

“Then it’s OK if I speak openly? Sir?” Emily Richardson looks over to her commanding officer, who nods, slowly. “Fine. So when, um, Gwen, are you going to allow more humans to emigrate to Samothrace? And how many? Won’t that be seen as a sign of weakness on your part? I thought the Draka were all about control and domination.”

Muhmis chuckles, and then leans forward, reaching out to hold Emily’s hand. “We are, my dear. We are. But there are certain…advantages to culling the herd, as it were. We’ll send you the humans we don’t particularly care about, ones that are more trouble to us than they’re worth to us. I know that sounds cold. It is. But that’s how it will work. I’m planning on doubling the emigration quota by next week. It serves as a pressure valve…”

“Releasing the pressure lets us avoid any unfortunate incidents, hopefully, here, Ma?” Alois stirs the fire with an iron poker, and sparks circle their way up the chimney. A log pops, and I jump a little.

“Exactly.”

“What do we get in return?” David walks over to the side table and pours himself a refill; the sweet scent of the wine diffuses through the room, competing with the cedar wood in the fireplace. “Quid pro quo?”

“A promise from us—that we will allow humans to leave this system and go to yours. That increases your population, as well as adding to its genetic pool. Those are bonuses as well. Another promise—that we’ll fight on your side when, and if, the Bugs return. And when we go hunting them, we’ll allow you along. The Bug’s technology is slightly above ours, and we could both benefit from that.” Gwen sits back, allowing Emily’s hand to drop.

“How about the idea of freeing humans here?” Emily’s looking at me when she asks Gwen this; I smile tiredly, having been through that already, many times.

“That is incompatible with our society, as it is, Emily. The humans who go to Samothrace are free, though.” Gwen’s voice is firm.

“Why do you resist the idea so much?” Emily returns, her hands clenching unconsciously.

“Needs must. Honestly, we see you humans as genetically inferior. No insult intended. We’re higher up on the food chain, and we were designed to be predators. Humans are…were… our prey. Fact of life, darlin’…no need to get upset.” Gwen’s voice carries harmonics designed to calm, but Emily shakes their effect off.

“I just don’t understand. Look at Erin…she’s been a serf so long, she doesn’t seem to question it anymore. She’s a bright, attractive, talented woman, who allows herself to be someone’s slave. And you can’t even imagine letting her go, can you? No wonder you’ve got unrest forming in the population.”

“Emily…” David chides, softly.

“Tantie-ma is happy. At least I think she is. If she wasn’t my mother’s serf, she’d be someone else’s. She is talented—beautiful—intelligent—but she is my mother’s. She belongs to us,” Alois says quietly, looking at me intently. “Erin always will.”

“Erin, do you have anything to say?” Gwen looks down at me.

“Oh, lordy…” I sigh. “I do. I guess. If anyone will really listen, I have a whole lot to say, actually. You sure you want to hear it, y’all?”

“If your owner will allow you…” Emily says, and I see tears in her eyes. Whether they’re from anger or sorrow, or pity, I don’t know. It hurts me to see her cry, no matter why.

I get up and sit down on the couch next to her, putting my arm around her shoulders. I pull her close, and feel her stiffen at first, then relax. Sniffles come from my shoulder, where she’s tucked her head, and I wait a moment. The room’s gone very quiet. This is a turning place, I think to myself. This is a place where futures diverge, moreso now than ever. Be careful.

“All right…time for some honesty, and maybe a little story. Mamaw used to tell me stories, to explain things. I’ve done that myself, haven’t I, Alois?” The young man nods, smiling, remembering. I go on:

“Do I want to be a serf? Someone who is property, who literally belongs, for life, to someone else? No. I never wanted that. What I wanted from life was a love, friends, time to enjoy them…what did I get? What have I gotten so far? I have had loves, I have one now that makes my universe complete—even if it’s a difficult one to maintain, and explore—I have friends. I have time. More time than I ever thought I could have, with the unlimited life span.”

I think for a moment. “Am I happy being a serf? When you consider the alternative, yes, hell yes. The alternative is being dead. I don’t want that. Given my position, my training, and the investment that Gwen’s put into me—personally, professionally, politically—I know I will never be able to emigrate to your world, Emily. I am hers, period. I accept that.”

The young woman stiffens again; I feel her muscles rebel against my words as I hold her. “Please, try to understand. I’ve spent over twenty years with this woman, and I have an investment, too. I have dreams, plans, things I want to see come to fruition. I can achieve most if not all of them with her. If I leave, those dreams die.”

“How can you have dreams if you’re owned by someone?”

“We all have dreams, darlin’…” I answer. “All of us. I don’t want to leave. That took a long time to really understand, but I do now. I was offered a chance at escaping, when I visited your planet, and I turned it down. I didn’t really understand why then; I just did it. Now I understand. I have a purpose here; I can moderate things a little. I can save lives, human and Draka and Samothracian. I won’t leave. I’m hers, all of me, forever.”

“It’s just not right…”

“We treat them well…we protect them, even at the risk of our own lives; we guide and help them. It’s a two-way street, Emily.” Alois prods the fire again, and then sits down, facing us. “It’s just one form of society; it evolved just like yours did. And until you’ve actually lived here, and experienced things, how can you be so sure it’s wrong? Maybe we think your ideas are wrong, too. But we’ve shown a willingness to talk with you about them. That’s something that surprised me, you know.”

“Right? Wrong? These are relative things. I don’t much buy into cultural relativity—you know, when in Rome—but given a set of circumstances, you have to make choices. I could have chosen to die; I thought about it. But that’s a worse sort of surrender—that’s a capitulation to nothing. Living means there’s hope, somehow. Somewhere. I can’t leave that, honey.” I rub her back as I talk. Gwen and David are silent, watching, listening.

“Don’t you want to be free?”

I think for a long moment. “The Draka are just as enslaved as we are, Emily. Their society binds them as tightly, if not more tightly, than it does us. They can never really be free of the responsibility of being a member of the Race; we humans have places inside us that they can never really reach. Our responsibility is to serve, and survive. Do I want to be free? Ideally, yes. Of course. But realistically—given this timeline, this universe, this culture—I know what my chances are.”

Emily sits up, looking deeply into my eyes. “That’s so sad, Erin…so sad.”

Nodding, I wipe a stray tear or two off my face. “Yes. But you deal with it. You carry on, as the old chief petty officers in the Navy used to say. That leads me to my next little thing…”

“You’ve done a lot of thinking about this.” David’s voice is soft. “I wish we could free you. Somehow. Is there any way at all, Gwen?”

“No.” Gwen looks me directly in the eyes. “She and I have discussed this to great lengths.”

“We’ve been up and down that road, for sure,” I agree. “Let’s leave it like this—Gwen’s willing to put her political career, even to some extent her life, given the nature of some of these political feuds—to allow humans to leave this planet, this timeline, and move to yours. They’re the free; the ones like me who stay behind know exactly what we’re doing and hopefully why.”

“And it’s not only Ma that’s risking things this way…all of us who support the Von Shrakenberg faction do so at some risk. I’ve already learned that, even at school. We Draka take our politics very seriously. It’s life or death; I guess that’s because we’re wired to seek out and enjoy conflict.” Alois smiles. “Or conquest.”

“Exactly. Now listen…this is something I’ve wanted to say for a long time, and haven’t had the right place or people to say it to. Now I do, and I want to make sure you understand me. OK?” I look around, holding everyone’s eyes with mine for a long moment. “OK. Here’s the story. Consider this: we’re all hominids. We used to sit in trees. Now, we’ve begun to descend the tree, and discover the ground—a whole new universe for us. Complete with incredible riches, adventures, dangers. You Draka are like the first little hominids who climbed down to the ground…”

“Oh, thanks…” Alois grins. He makes a hooting sound, and scratches under one arm, a silly look on his handsome face.

“No…now let me continue with this. I’ve thought about it a lot. You’ve climbed out of the tree, and you’re looking all around. The Samos are the next little critters to come down, and when y’all reach the ground, you meet the Draka critters. So far, so good. We humans on Earth/2 are the wary critters, sitting up in the tall branches, watching and waiting.”

Everyone’s smiling at this point. “It’s like, y’all see each other on the ground, and immediately start fussin’. There are rocks scattered around on the ground for free—you can use them to build things if you want—but no, instead you pick them up and start whaling the hell out of each other with them. Occasionally, we humans up in the tree get whacked, too, just cause we’re in the way. Not so much fun.”

David’s chuckling, and Alois’ grin is growing wider. Emily’s smiling, uncertainly. Gwen’s the only one not smiling; she’s looking at me in a serious way, her lips curved into her enigmatic Sphinx-like look. She nods, waiting for me to continue.

“You little hominids are so busy socking it to each other that you don’t notice the big ole saber-toothed tiger sneaking up on you. So now you’re in a world of hurt; you’ve basically brained each other with the rocks, and now you’ve got an even bigger problem on your hands. The tiger’s hungry, and she doesn’t care if it’s a Draka burger or a Samo steak. Got me so far?”

Everyone nods, and looks more serious now. “Good. Instead of whacking the daylights out of each other, you could have been building a fence, for protection; you could have been building a house or something…but you didn’t think about that. All you could see was someone was possibly going to take all your stuff, and you never asked them if they’d tolerate you if you’d tolerate them. You never really sat down and talked. I know I’m simplifying this all to hell, but bear with me.”

I clear my throat and go on. “We humans, despite taking some losses from occasional hits from rocks, are still up in the tree, and we’re not going to come down until you guys either stop fighting or get eaten. And if we do come down, I hope we’ve learned from your mistakes. We’ll take the rocks and build a city with them, not a missile silo complex. We’ll have rocks to use for weapons in case the cat comes back, but we’ll be thinking about more than just conquest, or more than just revenge.”

The room is silent.

“Wouldn’t it be better, if right now, right here, we all decide to stop throwing rocks at each other and start building something for the future? Then we could join you, adding our strengths to yours, and who knows where we little ole hominids might end up? All of us? I am sick and tired of hearing about conquest and domination—over all else—and the same goes for talk about revenging the Alliance for Democracy. Those things are old, folks. Let’s think about something new. We have to, if we really want to survive in this multiverse. We’ve got the key to the doors, now, and we’re not sure what’s behind each one. But we need to explore. If we work together, despite our differences, we can do it a lot more safely.”

“But how can we just forget, conveniently, that you’re a slave to the Draka? That’s against the moral structure of our society, Erin. We can’t just toss that out, no more than Gwen here can allow you to go free. We’re stuck.” Emily runs her hands through her hair and sighs.

“No one has to forget; no one has to concede to the other right now. We just have to agree to disagree, and work on those issues later. It’s not avoiding them; to be technical, it’s like tabling an issue during debate. We have other things to worry about right now than serfdom and freedom. If you’re a Bug’s dinner, it really doesn’t matter what race you are, does it?”

“No. True. But you’re very idealistic,” David says.

“Yes, I am. I still want to believe that we hominids, in addition to an opposable thumb, have some sort of survival instinct that will encourage us to work together now.” I wave my hands in the air. “Or these thumbs will go the way of the do-do.”

“You don’t see us working together like that, David?” asks Alois.

“I can see us trying. I think we did a good job in the recent Bug war. I don’t know how we’ll do if we have a longer war. I’m not sure we’d survive.”

“I know I sound simplistic, and naïve, and childishly hopeful…but please, just think about it. Just doing that gives me hope. We’re the movers and shakers, the shapers of the future. You know it, I know it. We’re the ones who are flexible enough to talk like this. Please let it mean something, y’all. Please?” I stand up, and take Gwen’s brandy snifter and my wine glass for refills at the bar. I need a drink after all that, I really do.

“Erin’s put a lot of thought into this; I’m impressed. Why not, just as a mental exercise, if nothing else…why don’t we think about it, think about the implications? I’m willing, David.” Gwen smiles. “Are you?”

“Oho…putting me on the hot spot, hmm? You two rehearse this?” His grin is there, but I don’t think he’s joking. I walk over next to him, looking up into his face.

“No, we didn’t rehearse it. I think Gwen’s known for some time that I have hopes for peace between the Samos and the Draka, but I’ve never really talked about it with her. David, you, me…Alois, Emily, Gwen…a few others, a handful at most…we’re the ones who can make this happen. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, really. We have a chance here…let’s not throw it away. Please?”

“You’re a persuasive one…” He looks deeply into my eyes.

“I try. After all, I’m a serf. It’s taught me to approach things in a certain manner. It’s also taught me that the little folks in the middle get screwed when the opposing sides decide to get it on. That’s no fun, despite the metaphor.”

He flushes. Ah, damn it, their Puritan streak is a mile wide. “You do know what I mean, don’t you, David?”

“Yes, Erin.” He walks over to the fire, where his blush isn’t quite so visible, but I know Gwen and Alois have noticed, if Emily hasn’t. “All right, Gwen. I’ll think about it. We can talk more about it this weekend, can’t we? Or do I have to commit myself to a position on this right now?”

“This weekend will be a fine time to think and talk about it, David. That’s quite all right. I mean, I haven’t really made up my mind, yet, either,” Gwen answers, accepting the brandy snifter from me with a smile. Our fingers touch, and electricity seems to flow through me. Her eyes, deep leaf-green pools, are spearing mine, and I know what Muhmis wants, and soon.

“Erin?”

I turn, blushing myself, to Gwen’s evident enjoyment, to Emily. “Yaz?” I use the Tawlk version, and wink at her. “Mey haylpah-yaz?”

“I’m serious. I have a personal question for you.”

“OK.”

“You said you have a lover who makes your universe complete. Just out of curiosity, who is it? I know you and Alice divorced…”

I sit down on the floor, in my original spot, next to Gwen’s long legs. I stroke her steel-hard calves with my free hand, sipping at my wine. Her legs feel so warm through the filmy white off-the-shoulder dress she’s wearing…

“Emily, I love Gwen.”

The young Samothracian goggles, her mouth dropping open in shock. She recovers in an instant, but the image remains—total shock. “Um…ah…”

Alois speaks up. “You mean, like love…not just, well… being trained so well for her by this point? You mean love as in ‘I love you’?”

“Yes, honey.” I smile at him. “I love your Ma, and not just cause she’s fantastic in bed, and because she’s a good mistress. I love her because she’s Gwen. The person Gwen, with all her strong points and her silly ones.”

“Do you…” Emily looks at Gwen. “Um, I mean…how can you…”

Gwen smiles fondly at the young woman, then down at me. “I love Erin. It’s been a difficult thing to work through at times. But I love her as a person, not just as a favorite saafn, or as a family brooder. It’s slightly different from loving another Draka, since…well, since we’re not the same race…but the feeling is a true one. I’ve grown to accept that. It was very…difficult…at first.” She strokes one long finger down the side of my face, and I blush.

“But you’re married…”

“Married to a Draka; and of course I love Schalk, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have married him. He loves Erin, too, which is nice. I think the relationship Erin and I have is a little deeper emotionally than the one she shares with him, but it works out well. Of course, this is for this room only…I get enough grief as it is from others who know,” Gwen says.

“Who else knows?” Alois asks.

“Tamarindus, for one. Your Grandmother Yolande, for another. Alexandra and Patrick know.” Gwen laughs, a bronze ringing in the room. “They should; they’re dealing with the same issues.”

I watch Emily’s face carefully as Gwen talks, knowing she had been very friendly with Patrick during my visit to their planet. I don’t see any hurt or sorrow, so apparently they were just friends. She still looks shocked, though, I think. “How about some more wine, Emily?”

“OK. I think I need some.” She hops up and gets it herself, topping off her glass. “This has been an interesting night…”

“Indeed,” Gwen murmurs.

“Speaking of which, I’m ready to turn in! Do you ladies and Alois mind if I…what’s the slang, ah… wimp out…on you? I’ve had a long day, and sleep sounds wonderful right now.” David sets his glass down on the table and stretches, muscles bulging under the gray tunic with green collar and cuffs.

“No, that’s fine. Let Paula here show you to your room, David. If you need anything, please ask.” Gwen nods at the pretty young Servus who’s opened the door after being summoned via transducer. “Remember, my House is yours, as a guest.”

“Thanks, Gwen. I appreciate that.” He smiles a little nervously at the beaming wench holding the door for him. I think she might be able to change his mind about needing sleep right away, I mentally chuckle. She could change my mind, that’s for sure. The young woman shows him the way out, and the door shushes shut behind them.

Emily sips pensively on her wine. “I’m sorry if I asked too many questions. I hope you don’t think I’m rude…”

“Not at all. That’s what tonight was for, dear. To ask questions and to think about answers. Erin, are you ready for bed? I am,” Gwen says, standing up. She holds her hand out to me, and rising, I take it in mine. She squeezes, and I return it, smiling up into that impossibly beautiful face. Ever since the last biomod, she’s known how horny I am, and certainly doesn’t mind that at all. I don’t, either. Adds more spice to my life, that’s for sure.

“Emily, would you like to go for a walk? The moon’s out…it’s pretty. Care to?” Alois stands, too, and holds out a hand. 

The young Samothracian woman looks at him in surprise. “Well…all right. Let’s go for a walk. But not too long, since I’m almost as tired as David was…”

To Gwen, I send: If that wench has anything to do with it, David’s not going to sleep for a while. Is that what your randy young son has in mind, too?

Muhmis leans down and kisses me firmly on the lips, in front of the two youngsters. Yes, I think so. Perhaps the idea of a Draka-Samothracian merger is on his mind. I’ll tell him to take things slowly. Don’t worry. I like Emily, too.

I bet you do…

Gwen’s laughter sends little thrills down my spine. “Ah…my sweet. Good night, you two. See you in the morning; we’re flying down to Andros Island for some fishing and swimming. Sound fun?”

Two enthusiastic assents reply; I slip my arm around Muhmis’ waist, and we walk from the room, Gwen nuzzling along the side of my throat. The night is just beginning, and I find myself breathless with need…with want…with love.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter 10  
**  
“She said what?!” Jennifer almost drops her coffee; I take her elbow and guide her into my office. I know it’s got the latest security gear, courtesy of Schalk, so we can talk in here without worrying too much about being listened to by the wrong people.

“She also said a few other things. Like that she loves me as a person, in front of her son, and two Samothracians, no less.”

“Oy, vey!” Jenny passes her free hand over her face and then through her thick, curly black hair. I notice much more gray in it than usual; either that, or I just haven’t noticed the gradual accumulation over time. My own hair, shoulder-length, is dark blonde, and due to stay that way. Period. One of the bonuses of being unaging.

“Come here and sit down before you faint all over my office rug.” I grin at her, and wave an arm at some comfortable chairs arranged around a huge section of an oaken log. I use it as a working desk; found it on a hiking trip with Alexandra and Ariadne years ago. “Yes, she’s doubling the emigration quota. Next week. I’m supposed to work with you to get the ball rolling. We don’t want mass protests, or rushes on the Samothracian embassies, or anything else like that. Anything of that nature would be an embarrassment and a bother for the Overlords, and we sure as hell don’t need that. OK?”

“Yeah…oh, man, just organizing the first go-round about this emigration thing was hard enough, and we had weeks to prepare, months, even. How can she jump this on us like…this? Plus all the other stuff that’s been going on.” Jennifer sits down, tiredly, I think, watching her move. She sighs deeply, and pulls a note pad closer to her from the small stack on the desk.

“Look, we just ramp up from here. We’ve already got the controls in place, and the procedures. We just have to adapt them for larger numbers. Look, honey, this is Gwen’s way of dealing with the malaise you were telling her about. Not that she’s really worried about it—if it became irksome, I know what she’d do, and I think you have an idea or two about that yourself. Let’s not dwell on that. Let’s get our teams together and let them do their thing.”

“What do you mean…irksome? What would she do, Erin? I mean, she can’t…well, I guess…” In the early morning light, Jennifer’s large dark eyes glitter in the sunlight streaming through the plate glass windows. I sip at my coffee and wait until she’s done thinking.

“You know what I mean. In case there’s any confusion, let me spell it out, though. We have even a hint of uprising, or general rebellion or anything even close, the Overlords will be quite efficient about it. You’ve had your immunizations, so you won’t have to worry. We’d be uploaded to an orbital battle station for a few months, until the tailored bacteria finish things off…”

“My god, Erin!” Her face has gone grey in the yellow sunlight. “Bioplagues? You’re kidding! You sound so…cold… about it, too. Like a—”

“Oh, damn it to hell. Go ahead and say it. Like a Draka. That’s one of Alice’s lines, remember? No, I’m not cold about this inside: I’m scared shitless. But you have to realize that we are serfs, Jenny. That’s it. If we rebel, or look like we are thinking about it, even, then we’re dead. Kaput. Finis. Got me?” I stand up abruptly and walk over to the windows, calming myself down by breathing deeply. Can’t she see we can’t afford this, or even a hint of it, right now? Now of all times?

“I’m very aware we’re serfs. Some of us are just more…special…as serfs than others. I don’t forget that, either. Shall I apologize, Sera Erin? On my knees, perhaps?”

Talking like that to a ranking serf, to a member of the Council, would have drastic consequences for anyone else. Talking like that to the Archon’s Prime Councilor, let alone her favorite human, is less than wise. I swallow the growl of rage that burns up my chest, and say, coldly, “Cut the anger, Jenny. I don’t need it, and we don’t have time for it. ‘More special’? That just means I have less and less time for me, and more and more work from them. That’s all. It means I can’t even sit around and relax around my old friends, since they’re all convinced I’m a baby Draka mutant chick from hell. It means I watch my friends age and die, and know that I won’t, unless I’m catastrophically atomized. How do you like that? You want to be in my shoes?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Jennifer knows she’s pushed a little hard, and I think she realizes that I’m trying hard not to react to it. After a few minutes, she sighs again. “No. No, honey, I don’t. I’m sorry…really, not sarcastic-like. I guess being reminded that we’re all alive because they allow us to live and serve just…rattled me. Plus the work in the making, for the emigration thing. Plus all the other work I’ve been doing—the world currency issues, the head taxes, all the restructuring and forward planning—it’s wearing me out.”

“That’s another thing I want to talk with you about. Why haven’t you taken your second rejuve yet? Muhmis is noticing, and so am I; you’re not old-looking, but you’re old-acting. Is it just the tiredness? Why not get the second one, and get a new…energy boost?”

“I look that bad, eh? People talking about my gray hair, my bags under my eyes…is that it?” She smiles, a hint of the old spicy New Yawker Jennifer Feinberg in her tone.

“Like I said…you are looking tired. We’re concerned. I am, as your friend; Muhmis is, as your owner. She and I have talked about it, and she asked if I’d sound the issue out with you. That way, it’s less…directive than if she has to say something about it to you. She takes such pride in having healthy, good-looking stock. You know that, knew it from the beginning.”

“There you go again, sounding…”

I sit down next to her and look her directly in the eyes. “I said stock to make a point. Damn it, Jennifer, I’m not one of them. I’m not a Draka, never will be. I’m me, a human, who happens to be a serf, but who also happens to be a Mark 1 Biomod with unlimited lifespan. That does make me somewhat unique, but it doesn’t make me a homo drakensis.”

“OK, OK…” She sips her coffee slowly. “Let’s not fuss. Please. Can we talk about all the other stuff later? Hmm? Let’s work on organizing the teams for the larger pools of applicants we’ll be dealing with.” Jennifer picks up her stylus and begins to sketch out the organizational structure, penciling in names of our assistants. After a moment of silence, she stops, and looks up at me. Jenny smiles, and I relent, leaving my angry silence.

“Fine by me. Keep the rejuve in mind. OK? Last time I’ll mention it.” I order my transducer to project a holographic representation of population figures, charted against birth rates and emigration rates, and begin to calculate the cost of sending hundreds of thousands of humans to another planet in another timeline. Just a day’s work for me…all done before eight A.M., too. I need to be ready to leave by ten, I tell myself, since we’re taking the Samos to Andros Island for a couple of days. Then I lose myself in the figures and projections…

**  
The day has been a long and enjoyable one; I am sitting on the soft white sand of the beach, watching Alois and Gwen play in the surf. The setting sun lights their bodies with gold and ruby; iridescent glitters of water surround their play. I sigh and stretch out on the sand, lazily aware of the servants setting out the dinner—it’s fresh-caught shark, and shrimp, soup of some sort, corn on the cob, salad…I hear a champagne cork pop out of a bottle, and in a moment, a servant kneels next to me, a glistening glass of bubbly in her hand. “Sera?”

“Thanks!” I sit up on one elbow and take the glass. This champagne’s fine…I’ve become accustomed to the better things in life since becoming Gwen’s, I realize. I smile gently at the young woman, who blushes prettily before dashing back to finish preparing the meal.

Over the edge of my glass, I see the two Samothracians walking toward our little group; heads bent together, they’re deep in conversation. Emily’s nodding, and occasionally looking down for more shells. She’s more of a shell hound than I am, and that’s saying a lot. I see she’s got a really lovely coral pink conch shell in her left hand; maybe Gwen will get me one when she goes swimming tonight.

“Sera, dinner’s ready; shall I tell Muhmis and Uhmas Alois?” The servant has returned, and is looking out into the surf with something akin to nervousness. When Draka play, they play hard; I wouldn’t want to wade out in the middle of them right now, either. And that’s with my biomods, too, I think. 

“No, I’ll tell them, honey. Thanks for getting everything set up so nicely. It looks lovely, and smells even better. Mmmm-hmmm….” I stand up, brush the sand off my tanned body…realize I should probably put some clothes on, since the Samos get embarrassed around nudity. I drape a light cotton robe over me, and walk toward the water’s edge.

“Muhmis…hey, Alois…dinner!” They grin hungrily at me, reminding me of two tigers ready to pounce, and come bursting out of the heavy surf at a full run, evidently racing each other through the resistance of the water. I start to step aside, to get out of the way, but Alois reaches me first. Smoothly, easily, he hoists me over one broad shoulder, and runs further up the beach. Gwen follows, tousling my hair as I hang upside down from my owner’s son’s shoulder.

“Aaarrgghh…you’re bouncing… your shoulder… into my tummy…every time… you jump…Alois…”I gasp, struggling to sit upright in his arms. He laughs merrily, and squeezes me tight.

“You’re fine…you’re just bothered I caught you, Miss Step-Quickly-Out-of-the-Way Erin!”

“Guh…” The breath huffs out of me as he tosses me up in the air and catches me. The image of a cat playing with a mouse comes to my mind, and despite years of training and acclimation, shivers go down my back.

“Darlin’, don’t jostle her too much. Dinner, you know.” Gwen takes the heavy terrycloth towel a Servus hands her, and begins rapidly drying her long, mahogany-red hair. When it’s almost dry, she easily pulls it back into a quick club-braid, and waits for the Servus to dry her the rest of the way off. He does so, his pale white skin gleaming as the sun sends out its final gorgeous rays over the water. He’s a new one, I think…does a good job, even though I’d rather be doing that myself. Jealous, ain’t ya, says the tiny voice in my head, and I smile inwardly.

David and Emily join us, the young woman looking a little concerned at my upside-down predicament. “Um, is that comfortable?”

I blurt out, “No!” 

As Alois turns to look her way, I take advantage of his momentary lack of concentration to boost myself out of his arms. I climb, with an agility born of biomodifications, up his chest, and perch myself on his shoulders, my hands on his head. I tweak some of his thick blond hair, giggling with triumph. “Hah!”

“Oh, really?” He begins to shrug me off, and I prepare to land in the sand. Gwen’s warning growl stops us both in mid-movement.

“Aw, Ma…” Alois complains.

“You two…you’re like kittens half the time, trying to wrestle. Enough, darlin’…we have guests, and dinner’s prepared. If you and Erin want to play afterwards, please do so. But leave her enough energy for me to enjoy later…” Her grin is lecherous, and infectious. Emily blushes deep rose, and I notice David actually grins. Maybe he did indeed have a bit of fun last night. I could check, but I’ll respect his privacy. I pat Alois on the top of his head, and he gently lets me down, giving me a resounding kiss on the cheek as he does so.

**  
Dinner was divine, as usual. Gwen certainly doesn’t believe in cutting corners when it comes to quality, I think. I’m sitting on the first floor balcony, looking out past palm trees to the ocean. The water’s growing dark now, as the sun’s gone down and the night sky begins to take over. The House is quiet; an occasional voice, or the meow of one of the genengineered cats by my feet, disturbs the peacefulness. One of the cats comes up to me, standing on its hind legs, putting its front paws on my left knee.

“Mmmorre?” 

“No more. All gone. Go play now.” I gentle ruffle her fur behind her ears, and she rubs her head against my leg, purring loudly.

“Surrre no mmorre?”

“Yes, honey. Go play. No more sardines. All gone.” I show her the empty can; she and her sibs have emptied it in record time. The cat, a pretty calico, looks sadly at the container, sniffs it just in case one more sardine’s hiding in there somewhere, and then leads her brothers and sisters off the balcony, off for a hunt along the dunes.

Gwen comes up behind me and strokes her fingers through my hair. “What are you up to, my pretty wench?”

“Just feeding the cats. Like they’re jest starvin’ little wretches, you know? Skin and bones?” I smile up at her, leaning my head back so it touches her washboard abs. A shiver of delight cascades through me as she bends over me, her breasts just centimeters away from my lips…she kisses me on the forehead, then straightens up again.

“Skin and bones? No… when you’ve actually seen what ‘skin and bones’ means, not much else compares to it…” Gwen looks off into the gathering darkness; stars are beginning to speckle the night sky with light. “Brings back memories, that phrase…”

“Oh?” I sit up and pat the couch next to me. “Tell me.”

Muhmis laughs softly. “Darlin’, I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Is it about the time you ate that poor rebel’s liver or heart or whatever, in front of her?”

“I ripped out her heart. Yes. She had just time enough to see me eat it, too, as her eyes glazed. That’s one story. No, this memory is another. Near the end of the killsweeps, actually. The rebel was more in the early stages…” Gwen sits down, long legs stretched out in front of her. “No, the skin and bones story is near the end, just before I went on to Mars, to terraforming. That was a relief, actually, compared to the butcher’s work in North America. Thank all the non-existent gods I wasn’t posted to Australia, under Louise Gaynor. She made the killsweeps in America look like grade school exercises…”

“Good lord.”

“Yes, Eric was right about her. Crude, sadistic, cold even for one of us ‘Snakes’…it was true butcher’s work ‘down under’. Glad I missed it.”

“So what’s the skin and bones story? Tell me.” I lean against her, relishing the familiar feel of her warmth, her rock-solid muscles. “Please? I mean, I’ve watched the historical vids, and you took me through the museum in Archona.”

“You did quite well with that, as I recall. Poor Alice didn’t, when she realized that the exhibit of homo sapiens was…well, real.”

“I think she thought they were manufactured, not…well, stuffed humans. That was kind of icky, to be honest. But I tried to stay detached and professional through it. I try to understand what all the planet went through, during and after the Final War. It’s hard, though. If you talk with me about it, sometimes, it makes things more clear.”

She puts one arm around my shoulders, draping the other on the arm of the cushioned wicker couch. “Fair enough. Here’s the story.”

A pause; she’s looking off into the distance, but I can see she’s looking into the past, of another timeline, on another planet. To another Gwen, a younger version, and one that’s closer to human than the one sitting next to me. She didn’t have her first major biomodifications until just after the Final War; she’s had five of them since. I’ve only had one, and I feel distanced already from the human race…not by my own choice, though…

“Let’s see…the killsweeps had been going on for over two years. We’d clear an area, set up perimeter defenses, and then start all over again. On top of the killsweeps, we were fighting a nasty, dirty little guerrilla action, too. Lots more casualties than we expected, to be sure. Alois—my husband—had just been sent back to Archona, with his third wound. I was stationed…um…where Little Rock, Arkansas, is in this timeline.”

“Was it called Little Rock there, too?”

“No, Harrison. Small town; probably less than thirty thousand had lived there. We had biobombed the surrounding countryside a week before we sent out the killsweep patrols. Used a tailored virus; it was quite crafty, killing humans aged fifteen and older by…basically an aerosol version of your Ebola virus. The body literally drowns in its own fluids; massive bleeding occurs, and death is usually within forty-eight hours of contracting the virus. Quite effective.”

“Yes. I can see that.” I shiver. “An aerosol version of Ebola…God. Why over fifteen? Why the age limit?”

“Someone in a comfortable office in a bunker somewhere in the old Domination decided we should try to capture young ferals, train them, and use them as workers for revising the continent. Basically, a clean-up crew. So we were trying to winnow out the adults, since they were too much damn trouble to capture alive. Not that many of them wanted to be taken alive, anyhow. A few did. If they hadn’t contracted the virus, and appeared to be useful, we’d take them in.”

“Oh.”

Gwen smiles, grimly this time. “As time went on, and their food supplies dwindled, we had more ‘volunteers’ coming to the lines…either to beg food from us or to avoid being eaten by their neighbors. Anyway…we were going into the outskirts of Harrison on patrol. Basic rule was to shoot first, take notes later. We were in armored vehicles, the 1998 Hond IV-C. Four of them; eight troopers to a Hond. We also had about twenty ghouloons with us that day.”

A glow globe floats over near us, shining softly yellow in the cool night air. Gwen mentally orders it further off the porch, toward the palm trees. I can smell the ocean’s tang, and Gwen…the wind clatters through the fronds of the trees as we sit enjoying the breeze. “What rank were you then?”

“I was technically a pilot-navigator, but on detached duty to the Army. They made me the equivalent rank, a cohortarch. Captain, to you, in your Army terms. I was second in command of the group. The commander had the same rank, just more experience in grade. Plus, she was hard-core infantry. Nice woman, as long as you didn’t get her angry; let’s see…what was her name? Hilda…Hilda Greenson. From a small town outside Archona, second or third generation Citizens.”

Gwen chuckles. “She was so nervous that I’d come in and take over, seeing as how I was the daughter of the ‘Hero of the Tunnels’ and also related to the Archon. We bristled at each other for a few days, then I finally sat her down and straightened things out. I wasn’t trained, really, to be an infantry officer, and this was her career. I wanted her to make a go of it, and do well. Once she understood that, we got along just fine. She was hot in bed, too.”

“You horny snakes…”

“Yaz…” The slang comes suddenly to her voice, a hardening, a more guttural twang to her accent. “Anyway, we were entering the town when we had a report from an artillery spotter overhead. He said there was a small group of ferals approaching us from the south, with a white flag. The flyboy wanted to know if he could call in some antipersonnel rockets or some white phosphorus shells. Hilda told him no, to wait until we had reconned the sighting. Most of the humans we had seen that morning were dead or dying, and we were curious about the group.”

“You didn’t just decide to kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out?”

“No…by that time, we’d all had enough of the killing frenzy; when we first landed on the continent, no human was safe from us. We did indeed kill them all and let their god figure it out. I wished him or her luck, too…” Gwen’s smile is wolfish. “We carefully approached the little group, and one of the first things we noticed was that they were all quite…short. Took us a few minutes to realize they were all children. That was amazing.”

“All kids?”

“Yes…from about three or four up to fourteen, as it turned out. Over sixty of them. We encircled them, and Hilda ordered them all to lie down on their bellies. The ghouloons were drooling with excitement; I remember that quite clearly, and being thankful I wasn’t their commander. He got pretty soggy on occasion. We sent in a stick of ghouloons first, to test for a trap. The lochoi had a biosensor on him, too, to check for any biological weapons the group might have had. Nothing showed up, so we all dismounted and moved in to capture the picknins.”

Her hand strokes my hair. “Found the two leaders—a pretty buck and a sweet little wench, both fourteen and frightened out of their wits almost. Not quite, though, which was rather impressive. Most of the children were severely malnourished, starving, basically. We searched them for weapons or signs that they had one of the several other bioplagues we’d released. Nothing showed up, and the only things they had were the clothes—what was left of them—on their backs. They were filthy, by Wotan’s balls. Crying softly; some were too weak to get back up once they had fallen to the ground.”

“My lord…”

“Yes, it was pretty sad. One little wench had gotten up onto her knees as we approached; she had a tattered teddy bear in one hand, one of the only children who had anything at all. As I approached, she began to shiver more and more violently, so I stopped about two meters away. I had some chocolates than Uncle Eric had sent to me for my birthday—this was about three days afterwards, and I had just turned 24—and I thought I’d offer her some. I held out the bar—it was wrapped in gold foil, from Livingston’s, in Archona…”

“I remember that place—we stopped there when you took us to Prime Line the first time. That candy was absolutely marvelous.”

“True. He had sent a whole case; everyone, even the ghouloons, had some. The girl stood up, shakily, and just stared. I knelt down on one knee, and offered her the candy. I tried to sound as soothing as I could; this was before the biomod that boosted my pheromonal control. The little wench wobbled there, on her stick-thin legs; her dress was torn, hanging in shreds around her scabby knees. Dirt had covered her so much I wasn’t even sure what color she was. Her eyes were huge and dark, with circles under them. She was the saddest-looking little picknin I’d ever seen. I softly called her over, and slowly, very slowly, the wench made her way to me.”

Gwen’s quiet for a long moment. I look up into her face, and see that her eyes are shut. “Gwen?” I ask, softly. “You OK?”

She nods. “Yes, darlin’…ah. Well. I handed her the chocolate, and she just held it in one hand, her bear dangling from the other. Her eyes never left mine, not for an instant. I smiled at her, and touched her cheek with a finger; she flinched as though I’d hit her with a sjambok. I stroked her again, and motioned for her to unwrap the candy. The wench began to do so…”

I can’t believe my ears…Gwen’s voice wavering? I watch her face, composed as usual, and wonder at the force of the memory being told. She’s always in such control; for her to show this much emotion while remembering something is amazing. I take her hand, hanging over my left shoulder, in both of mine, and stroke it softly.

“The tot began to open the candy, and I saw her eyes change from a feral, a little animal, to a small, hungry girlchild again. I smiled again at her, and noticed the others around me were watching, most smiling too. Kerrilee, on the first Hond’s minigun, suddenly shouted out a warning; I reached for my rifle as the first shot rang out in the morning air. The child in front of me suddenly looked very confused; blood spattered into my face from her chest. Without a noise, without a cry, she sank to her knees and then fell face-first, her head landing on one of my boots. The chocolate—I remember—was still clutched in her hand.”

“Why? Why’d you guys shoot them?” My voice cracks.

“Us? We hadn’t. The children, and ghouloons, and the rest of us, ran past the front Honds to the rear; Hilda spread us out into combat formation. Several of the children had fallen by now, whether from the sporadic sniper fire or from sheer exhaustion. The others we loaded into the Honds, tossing them in like sacks of yams. I moved out with one section, going to the left, toward some brick buildings; Hilda took another section, and a Hond, to the right.”

“Oh, man…”

“I pinpointed the gunfire as coming from the top floor of the brick building—looked like a factory of some sort. Hilda created a diversion while my section, and ten ghouloons with their officer, infiltrated. I wanted to kill the bastard myself; it would be too easy to call in an airstrike.” Gwen pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing. 

“Once I got to the upper levels, we found about six adult humans. Two were dead…one had contracted a flesh-eating bacteria, and basically didn’t have much of a face left, and the other had been dead for several days, I’m not sure of what. Smelled like hell, especially for my New Race nose. That was before we developed filters… Anyway, I got up to where the sniper fire was coming from, and killed three of the humans outright. The fourth I wounded. He was the one at the window, the one who had shot the child.”

“Oh, god, why? Why?”

Her face is like granite. “He grated out that the baby was ‘better off dead on her feet than living on her knees’. I broke both his arms and his legs, and then let the ghouloons…play. His screams satisfied me. He lasted about thirty minutes, amazing when you consider what they were doing to him. I’d never seen a human gang raped and eaten alive all at once; they took turns, being well-trained ghouloons. Their officer, a younger man from a Landholding in Greece, gave them permission to eat the other three that I had killed. It was getting hard to find cattle or horses for them to eat, so we usually fed them fresh-killed humans, ones we’d killed outright, as opposed to those dead from bioplagues.”

“Oh, jeezie petes, Gwen.” I feel sort of queasy.

“I warned you…” She murmurs, nuzzling my neck gently. “I did, Erin…”

I swallow. “I know. Sorry. Then what happened?”

“We salvaged forty-two of the sixty; eight had been killed by the sniper fire or from exhaustion trying to get to cover; ten others either died from starvation—we didn’t get to them in time, basically—or we had to be put them down due to irreversible damage or brain death. I interrogated the two oldest, a boy named Micky and a girl named Fiona.”

“What’d they have to say about the goddamn sniper?”

“Not much good,” Gwen answers. “They told me that their parents had gathered all the children from the surrounding countryside, and put the two oldest in charge. They were ordered to march toward our lines, making sure to show a white surrender flag quite clearly. Micky was upset that he couldn’t stay with his parents and older sister, who were all dying of the airborne Ebola. He was quite suicidal, in fact, after they surrendered to us. The girl, Fiona, was more pragmatic. She said all the adults decided to send the children to us, to either surrender and survive, or to at least die quickly, as the baby I was giving the chocolate to had.”

“Did you find any of their parents alive? Or did you look?”

“Fiona was quite helpful in that respect, possibly hoping for a non-existent miracle, the survival of her parents and grandparents. We used her as a guide, pointing out houses where the children had come from in Harrison, and where she knew some Alliance National Guard troops had been. We executed the troops we found, and we looked for living parents. Didn’t find any; they were all dead or almost dead when we found them. We ended up razing the town—called in some bombers, and they used some of the ‘blockbuster’ bombs, which destroy quite large areas very well indeed.”

“What happened to the kids—Micky, Fiona, the others?”

“Micky eventually committed suicide rather spectacularly—he climbed into a pen of ghouloons and began attacking them with a broom. Hell of a messy way to go, actually. We had some laughs about that at the officer’s mess. Fiona, as I remember, was finally claimed by Hilda, who took her home with her when her tour of duty was up. I claimed a couple of little ‘uns, probably four and five years old, and took them home with me, as Household serfs. They grew up and had families of their own, as I recall; much better lives than living as a feral in the bushes in North America.”

“Oh, Gwen…” I look away. “It sounds like doing that tour of duty was…painful…for you, as well as for the survivors of the Final War in the States.”

“Moreso for them than for me, sweet. I survived.” She hugs me firmly. “What upset me so was that the child had, for all intents and purposes, surrendered. Once a feral surrenders, we consider them saafn, and want to protect them. I couldn’t protect her, and that bothered me. I had dreams about it for several weeks, until I decided to put it out of my mind. I did keep a journal, though; perhaps one day I’ll allow you to read it, pretty girl.”

“Would you, really?”

She purses her lips in thought. “Yes. You want to understand me; you say you love me no matter what…reading it could perhaps help you see things through my eyes. Maybe it would help you understand me. I hope it wouldn’t change the way you obviously feel for me. That would be a shame.”

I shake my head no. “When I say I love you, that means I accept you, past, present and future. You may have done things in the past that I think are…well, gross…but I don’t think that they define you as a person. You have regrets, like anyone else. You have faults, Muhmis, all respect intended, like anyone else. But you have a sense of history, a sense of purpose…perhaps a vision that we can share. But even beyond that,” I whisper, “I love you for you. I love being with you, whether we’re talking, or making out like mad mink, or whatever. That doesn’t change, Gwen.”

Her lips meet mine, and for long moments, she’s the only thing in my universe. Her hands, those long fingers with their delicate, precise touch…her strength; the warmth of her mouth, her tongue. How she lifts me onto her lap, facing her, knowing that I’m burning with desire at her slightest touch… how she teases me, slowly taking my blouse off, then my bra. Soon, I’m open to her, in more ways than one.

Her teeth nip along my neck, and instead of drawing back and squeaking like I usually do, this time I arch my neck and lean into her, a sudden purr rising unaccustomed to my throat from deep within my chest. My hands undo her braid, and soon her hair is free-falling over her shoulders, bathing me in mahogany. She’s surprised that I don’t pull away as her teeth close on my neck, and in fact nips me hard enough to draw blood. I sigh, and stroke my hands down her chest, opening her shirt, caressing the firm, full breasts beneath, delighting in the rise of her nipples to my fingertips.

This feels different, somehow, I think, while I still can. Why…it’s because I’m giving more—in fact, finally, all—of myself to her now. This time, this night, here on the island where it all started, over twenty years ago…I give myself to her completely, willing my body to hers, my soul to meet hers, my lips joining with Gwen’s, tasting the slight salty tang of my own human blood upon her Draka mouth. Ah, gods, I’m going to die, right here, right now, out of sheer pleasure…

Her rising growl of arousal makes me even hotter; I begin to grind against her, moaning. She takes the hint, and then takes me, the two of us sliding off the couch onto the balcony deck, her on top, me gasping underneath. Her kisses grow more and more wild, and her hands have a mind of their own. No more is she teasing…now she’s taking. And receiving. The sweet, wild ride begins, and we’re swept into an hour of passion like nothing we’ve experienced before, in all our lovemaking. I see surprise in her eyes, and a warmth that melts my heart; she finally allows us a respite. I end up back sitting in her lap, my legs around her waist, arms around her shoulders. My face is snuggled against her neck, and I nuzzle it softly, lovingly.

“Great guns, wench-o-mine, that was…delicious. You set me off like a sun-bomb,” Gwen murmurs. “It felt…incredible. Different.”

“You know why, my Gwen.”

She nods, her eyes holding mine. “You gave me all this time…moreso than any other time, didn’t you?” Her hands caress down my back, cupping my bare ass and warming me as they move. I nod, speechless, and she sighs, deeply. “Yes, mia carina, yes…”

My eyes flutter shut; tiredness grips me in an iron vise. “Take me to bed, please, Muhmis,” I say in a tiny voice. “I’m tired…”

“Si, mia tesoro, I’ll take you there. Shhh…” Gwen’s arms hold me tight as she smoothly rises from the deck; cradling me, she walks through the now-quiet house and up the stairs to her bedroom. “Sleep now, with me, my beautiful little woman. Sleep with your padrona…”

Elsewhere, unbeknownst to either Gwen or me, other words of love are being whispered…and answered.

**  
“Ah, Jennifer,” I say, running through the last of the data. “That is a truly impressive piece of work. Well done. Very well done.”

Jennifer sighs and smiles at me across the table. I can see what Erin meant, I think. She is mortally tired. 

“I’ve been working you too hard, though,” I say. “New orders: you’re taking a two-week holiday.”

“But Muhmis, I’m not finished!” she wails, startled.

“You’ve done the planning,” I say firmly. “Your subordinates should be able to handle the execution, if you’ve trained them properly – and I think you have. You always did have a little trouble delegating; time to back off a little.” 

Andrew, I call through my transducer. There is an image of a desk and a holo-conference. The human glances up – a reflex, although my image is internal. He closes his eyes to concentrate. Here’s the outline plan for the increased emigration quota that Jennifer has been working on. I think you can handle implementation?

He takes a moment to scan it. Yes, Muhmis Archon; we had a conference about that. He’s a sharp young man, one of the generation who’ve come up since the conquest. Not as quick as Jennifer, perhaps, but hardworking, very intelligent, and he does have a better grasp of how to handle modern infosystems. I think we can move from the overall structure into the necessary administrative modifications immediately. You should see process results within a month.

Good, I think/transmit. See to it personally until you have definite results.

Whom shall I report to, Muhmis Archon?

Me, for the next two weeks; then to Sera Jennifer as usual.

Your will, Muhmis.

“Yes, Muhmis,” Jennifer says, and I see her slump a little. 

The exhaustion is much more mental than physical, but it is none the less real for that. I feel a wave of protective affection; little Jenny has served me very well, in more ways than one. The conquest and settlement here would have been far less smooth without her.

“Come,” I say. 

It’s evening, and we walk down to the beach. Another Draka passes me, one of the Archon’s retainers, laughing and joking with her human; she gives me a lowering of the eyes, he a bow. The beach is deserted, only us and the hissing advance and retreat of the waves, and the sun setting in the west along a trail of fire. Jennifer is a little jittery.

“What’ll I do for a solid week?” she says.

“Reading, swimming, eating, playing games, sex,” I say. 

She smiles a little, looking up at me out of the corners of her eyes. “Why, it’s been a whole… three days.”

I laugh and put an arm around her shoulders. “Erin and I had a rather… special night,” I say. “She’s still recovering and I actually felt satisfied for a whole thirty hours. Here.” I give her a few glimpses via transducer.

She whistles. “Oh, my. Lawks, as Erin might say.” A pause. “You and she have something… rather special, don’t you, Muhmis?”

“Yes,” I say. After a moment. “Are you envious, Jenny?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t want to fly that close to the sun… it’s changed her.”

I nod. “Me too. Well, you only stop changing when you’re dead.”

“Yes… that hit me, a little while ago.”

“Oh?”

“I realized how much I’d changed, the other day… one of those things that hits you, when you notice a gradual change? 

We sit in the shelter of a palm, side by side, with our arms around our knees. The dry rustle of its leaves overhead combine with the strike-and-retreat of the sea in a pleasant surruss of white sound; under it I hear the near-silent whisper of a momentum-transfer drive from a weapons platform far overhead, the lapping of the water against a sailboat's hull out at the edge of sight.

“It was when Alois came back. I remember how glad I was – am – that he’d gotten the prize, how proud I felt. And when he had me there in the corridor, everything felt so good, so right about it – I was laughing, when I could breathe, and thinking how nice it was of him to take me to celebrate. And then, after you in the office, I thought back… I don’t have any boundaries any more, compared to the person I was. I’m Jennifer d’Ingolfsson now, really. It’s not just that I don’t resent you anymore, I’ve even stopped resenting that I don’t resent. And I can’t even recall exactly how it happened.”

I sigh with contentment. “That’s lovely,” I say. 

She gives a little snort. “And I think I’m beginning to understand that, too. Which is weird.”

I laugh and put an arm around her shoulder. “Now you’re beginning to understand what it’s like to live a very long time,” I say.

“I’m barely middle-aged!”

“You’ve packed a century of changes into that. If you live as long as I have, even in places where change is slow, it’s total… and I’m not even biologically what I was, when I was your age. I can remember it, but sometimes it’s as if I read it, or saw a really good holovid, rather than experienced it myself.”

She shivers in the circle of my arm. “I’m not certain I could… endure that. That much separation.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to endure it forever,” I say. “Ten million years of primate evolution leave deeper tracks than a few centuries of biocontrol. But… life always has new things that are good, as well as things lost.” I quote a verse…

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Old Norse,” I say. “In English… hmmm. ‘The lame can go on horseback/The handless can tend herds/Better to be blind than burnt on your pyre/No deeds can a dead man do.’ ”

We sit for a long while, enjoying the starlight glittering on the waters. “Well,” Jennifer says at last. “There are always things like this.”

“Yes,” I say, and stand, pulling her up. “Now I’m going to walk you back to the House and see that you get tucked in.”

“What, alone?” she says, a hint of an impish smile.

“Yes. You need the rest. And then we should have your rejuve started. You’ll be amazed at how much everything savors more with youthful hormones.”

“I’m… not sure I’m ready for that, Muhmis.”

“I am. Jenny, think back to the beginning of this conversation.”

“Oh.” A chuckle. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s an unanswerable argument.”

“Yes indeed.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11

Sera Erin?

I slowly waken to the voice in my head. “Wha…”

Please, Erin…I’m not used to using this…um…Erin? Wake up, please?

Gwen stirs next to me. That surprises me; I can count on one hand all the times she’s been sleeping next to me when I wake up in the morning. Usually, she’s out for a twenty-mile run, or a long swim, leaving me to catch up on my sleep. Now I slowly sit up, making sure I don’t pull her mahogany red hair as I do so. I concentrate for a moment, and realize that it’s Emily who’s talking to me via transducer.

Please, Erin…ow, this thing hurts. How do you…this is such a weird technology, nothing like ours, if I had half an hour, I could make this thing over again…Erin?

Emily? What in the world are you doing? Security’ll have kittens. Get off the transducer band!

I frown, and sit up straight. Next to me, Gwen purrs softly, and opens her leaf-green eyes. She’s awake, just like that, no intermediate point of muzziness. “Erin?”

“Good morning, Muhmis,” I smile. “I’ll order breakfast. It’ll be here in a moment or two.” Through the transducer, I send:

Emily, if this is a joke, it’s too early in the morning. Plus, this is dangerous. For you and me.

Please…I need to talk with you, Erin. It’s…very important. Believe me! Come down to the library, please. I’ll get off this thing if you’ll come down…

“What are you doing, my sweet?” Gwen’s voice comes from inches away from my left ear, her breath tickling me. Her lips brush along my neck, giving me goose bumps all over. I shiver with delight, and catch her roaming hands with mine.

Erin, don’t tell anyone…I mean anyone…please, I need you…

I blink, unaccustomed to the need in her voice. It translates even through the transducer. I kiss Gwen’s fingertips, and order breakfast for us. I also reply to Emily:

I’ll be there in a while. Get off the transducer, Emily. However you got on one, don’t tell me. Just get off it. And you know as well as I do that Gwen can monitor.

Can’t you…oh, damn it, Erin!! Please! Now! I need to talk with you now! I can’t believe this…

“Ow!” I whisper, dropping Gwen’s hands to hold my temples. Shouting over a transducer is considered ill-bred, insulting, even; I wasn’t prepared for it. My head seems to reverberate. 

“What’s wrong…” Gwen’s husky alto cuts through the pain fog. “Erin?” 

As much as anything else, I feel her presence in the transducer link, searching with power that’s granted only to Draka, and with a purpose all her own. 

Emily? Gwen sounds…cold. I realize she’s getting annoyed, and an annoyed Draka isn’t any fun to be around.

Please, Muhmis…she’s just trying to talk with me.

Over the Net? Using a Draka transducer? This is highly irregular. Highly. Emily, get off the transducer, now. Report here, to my bedchamber. Immediately.

But…but…ow! OK, OK… Emily’s link goes silent, after Gwen sent a blast of frustration at her. I wince, knowing how much that must have hurt. Gwen’s eyes clear, and turn back to me.

“How long has this contact been going on?”

I think for a moment. “Approximately 4.589 minutes, Muhmis. I told her several times to stop. She’s insistent about needing to speak with me.”

“Has she done this before?” Gwen rises, stretching her long, muscular frame in a series of judo-like movements. The morning sun gleams along her tanned, milk-chocolate-dark skin, as muscles move beneath like oiled steel cables. “Erin?”

“Um…sorry, you took my mind off things for a moment. No, Muhmis, never before. I didn’t know they could access the Net. How can they?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” There’s a slight knock at the door, and then two servants wheel in the breakfast cart, laden with fresh fruit, coffee, biscuits, grits, ham, bacon, orange juice…my mouth waters. I’m starving; last night Gwen helped me burn a hell of a lot of calories.

The servants bow themselves out, beaming from Gwen’s praise of them, and she sets to eating with her customary single-mindedness. Emily appears at the door, looking frightened and confused. Her hair is tousled, and she doesn’t look like she got much sleep. “Archon?”

Gwen swallows her mouthful of English muffin. “Come in, sit down. Eat something if you like.” She returns to her meal, apparently ignoring the pitiful look the young Samothracian gives her.

Emily comes in, slowly, and sits across from me at the table. Her hands commence torturing the linen napkin in front of her, and she shakes her head no to my offer of coffee. I watch her closely, seeing the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and wonder what in the world all this is about. Finally, sighing in contentment, Gwen drops her napkin on her cleared-off plate. She sips at the coffee—Blue Mountain, some of the best I’ve ever had—and spears Emily with a glance.

“Why, in the name of your god, would you risk your rank, your freedom, and a session with the Security Directorate to play on a transducer?”

“I needed to talk with Erin, ma’am.” Her thick dark hair hanging down hides her face, but her voice trembling reveals a lot about her emotional state. “Privately.”

“Privately? Erin’s a serf. That means she can be monitored, at any time, by me or by the S.D. You know that, child.”

“But…but…”

“What? Spit it out, wench.” Gwen sets the cup down in the saucer without making a noise. She leans backward in the chair, her hands steepling together in front of her.

Looking past her hands I realize she’s nude, and that I am, too. I’ve spent so much time with her now that I am used to nudeness, more or less, and don’t really notice it sometimes. Maybe that’s why Emily’s hanging her head, I muse, and get up to fetch us robes. Gwen tracks me with her eyes, her head immobile; something about her stillness makes me feel very frightened.

“Please, let me talk with Erin…” Emily pleads, her face still out of sight behind the hanging veil of thick black hair. “Please, Archon…”

“Here, Muhmis, it’s a little chilly this morning,” I murmur, holding the robe out to her. Gwen smiles gently at me, and takes the robe. I slip into mine, and resume my seat to Gwen’s left. Soft sniffles are coming from Emily now; the difference between the usually calm, cool and collected Samothracian lieutenant and the young woman weeping in front of her hereditary enemy is shocking.

“Whatever you have to say to Erin, you will say in front of me. I won’t risk Erin’s safety, or her security standing, by letting her go with you, in the state you’re in. Is that clear?” Gwen’s voice is firm, granite.

“Oh, please, it’s a personal thing…I can’t talk about it in front of you…no offense…please?”

“Emily, either tell us what the problem is—personal or otherwise—or I’ll call David in here, and we’ll have you sedated. I’m surprised at you, being this upset. Talk with us…” Gwen inserts harmonics into her tone, soothing and gentling her message. As accustomed as I am to her, I can pick out the overtones quite readily now. They seem to work on the young woman sitting across from me.

I reach across the table for her hands. “Talk with us, Emily. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”

“Oh, God Above, I can’t believe…oh, why was I so dumb? I just …” Emily’s voice cracks. “Please don’t tell Commander Packard. Please don’t.”

I begin to say something, and Gwen’s hand on my forearm stops me. She shakes her head no, slowly, and I nod. We wait until Emily speaks.

Dabbing at her eyes with the napkin, then twisting it between her hands, she finally looks up at us. “Something happened last night. I didn’t mean for it to. It just…happened. And now I’ve sinned, and on top of that there’s the political stuff, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“Sinned?” Gwen’s voice is gentle.

Emily takes a deep breath, and sighs, letting it all back out again. “Last night…Alois and I went for a walk on the beach. We walked and talked, and it was lovely. He’s very…handsome. And he quoted poetry for me, and it was amazingly good. Even the ones by…your mother, Archon.”

“Gwen, please. If this is personal.”

“OK, um, ah… Gwen.” She sighs. “We ended up at a little beach house…we just sat and talked for a long time. About all sorts of things. Life, and how we are getting along instead of being enemies, and how many doors that opens for us…” A hiccup interrupts her.

“Sounds nice, honey. Why are you so upset, then?” I stroke her hands. “It’s all right. Just tell us.”

Emily looks up again, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Um…well…we talked, and then went…skinny dipping, is what he called it. Swimming in the nude. It was lovely—the water was so warm. We were body-surfing, and ended up running into each other. He caught me, and then…he…” Her face turns crimson. “He kissed me. And I returned it.”

Draka and Samothracian, kissing in a Terran ocean? Good lord. Uh-oh, I send to Gwen. This could be complicated.

Yes, indeed. There’s a hint of humor in her reply. Gwen goes on, vocally: “Then what happened, Emily?” 

“We went back up to the beach house, and kissed some more. I’ve been kissed before, but…it wasn’t anything like this,” the young woman replies, still blushing.

“We know about the pheromonal dampeners you’re wearing, Emily. Security’s known about them for several months. Weren’t you using yours?”

Emily looks wide-eyed at Gwen, her mouth dropping open a little. “You know about… um… I was…for a while,” she finally manages to say, swallowing hard.

“But you turned it off? Why?”

Her eyes appear locked to Gwen’s…Emily’s coloring is taking on a deeper shade of red every moment. “We…he…um, we…decided to…disengage it…”

“And you ended up fu—” Gwen’s eyes widen a little as I kick her gently under the table. “You had sex with my son?”

“Yes,” comes a tiny whisper.

“So, what’s the problem?” Gwen sounds bemused.

“What do you mean? That is the problem!” Emily covers her face with her hands, sobbing. “I didn’t mean to…but I did…but it felt so good…oh, God…”

“Whoah, honey. It’s OK. Shhh….” I have gotten up by this time, and circle around the table to hug her against my waist. Her sobs shake both of us. This is real grief, I think, not something made up. She’s been raised to hate the Draka, for one, and her view of them has been distorted by years of Samothracian propaganda. Plus, her religion believes in virginity until marriage, and I think her virginity is a thing of the past. As of last night…

“I really don’t understand what all the tears are for, unless he forced you somehow, or damaged you physically, Emily. Calm down now, and let’s talk this out.” Gwen refills her coffee cup as she speaks, carefully looking away from the young Samothracian. 

“But…I’m not supposed to…it’s against the teachings of the Church…and now I’ve sinned…”

“What’s sinful about pleasure between two consenting adults?” I stroke my hand through her hair. “We’re coming from different places, here, Emily. Now—did he force you?”

“No!”

“Did he lie to you, or manipulate you into it?”

“No.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Y-y-y-yes…”

“Given the same circumstances, would you do it again?”

She pauses for a long time, thinking that one through. “My heart says yes. But my brain is telling me I shouldn’t…it’s not the way I was brought up.”

I sit down next to her, still stroking her hair. “Honey, you attended the lectures—the acculturation ones—didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. You know I did, you were there.”

“So you know, logically, that the Draka society has different…mores…than yours does. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So, basically, you’re upset because you’re afraid of repercussions from your family, your society? Not because something happened that was unpleasant, or forced upon you?” I smile at her. “This is important, Emily, so think about it.”

Gwen’s sitting back, her eyes on us, watching, observing. I glance up at her, and catch the almost scientifically-detached look in her eyes, and a thought comes to my head. Using my transducer, I send:

Gwen, please tell me you didn’t plan this.

A slight smile forms on her face. No, even in my craftiest of plans, I didn’t send my son out to seduce a Samothracian wench. Although this could be very useful…

Oh, please, please don’t use this girl. Not that way—not politically. Maybe this is a chance for something new…

We’ll see. There’s finality in that statement that over twenty years of service have taught me to leave alone. Challenging that would lead to annoyance…the last thing I need from her.

“Emily?” I cup her chin, raising her head so that our eyes are level. As you’ve learned to do from your owner, the tiny voice in my head comments. I file that away for later.

“I wanted to. It was so…exciting. And he was so…strong, but gentle, especially when he knew I was…untouched. I wouldn’t change that. I’m just scared that it means I’m damned now, and I’m also scared that…it might have political implications. The moment just carried us away, I guess.”

“Your soul, and its state, is something you’ll have to work out on your own, my pretty girl,” Gwen says, gently. “Politically, this could have some interesting effects, but only if you want it made public. We Draka do understand discretion.”

The door bursts open, and Alois bounds in, for all the world like Tigger. All he needs is the spring in his tail and the orange and black stripes, I think. “Hey, Ma! Tantie-ma! Guess wha—” He stops short, arrested in mid-bounce by the sight of Emily at our table.

“I think I have some idea of what you were about to tell us, my son.” Gwen chuckles, and standing up, hugs him close to her. She kisses him resoundingly on the top of his thick blond hair. “I think I have some idea…”

“Oh. Um…” He looks over at Emily, a gentle smile on his face. “Yes. I bet you do have an idea.”

“Um…” Emily looks down at the linen napkin twisting between her hands. “Alois…”

“Look, I don’t think there’s anything to be massively upset about here, honey. The religious stuff I can’t help you much with, though. Maybe talking to one of your ministers would help. I don’t know. You wouldn’t have to tell him that it was a Draka you slept with, would you?” I stroke her back.

“No…”

Gwen sits back down, nibbling on a pastry. “As sure as I’m sitting here, turning off your little pheromonal blocking device has triggered a sensor in your security forces. That’s how we’d run things, if we had some sort of personal sensor attached to us. So you’re going to have questions to answer, my little one.”

“But it was just between the two of us—it wasn’t some big political thing. That’s what made it so special, Ma…” Alois complains, running his hands through his hair.

“Sometimes the personal is political. That’s true now—and it was true before your Ma arrived on Earth/2. Every time I went to bed with a girlfriend, it was a personal thing. But it was also a political thing: we could be fired from our jobs, harassed, kicked out of our living quarters, put in jail, and every year there were hundreds of people killed, just over that one little thing. Who you took to bed, in the privacy of your own home, between consenting adults…” I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

“It’s not like that now, is it?” Alois says, sitting down next to me and buttering a scone.

“No, mostly due to the imposition of Draka morality over our old one…not that I’m complaining, of course. I’m just trying to tell you that what you two did, besides being personal and beautiful, and all that—it’s political, too. And you’ll both have to deal with it.”

“I don’t think the Draka will think too badly of it,” Alois munches through his scone. “But the Samos, on the other hand…”

“I know, we’re the repressive ones, the ones who are all religious. Do you know how sick I am of being religious? I think somewhere they missed the meaning of religion and made it into another tool to hit the Draka with. I don’t know what to think. All I know is that it happened, and it was lovely.” Emily looks Alois straight in the eyes. “And I wouldn’t mind if it happened again.”

“It will be seen as another quirky Von Shrakenberg/Ingolfsson mafia thing…politically,” I say, watching Gwen’s eyes. She nods, and smiles.

“We’re getting a reputation for that, aren’t we?”

I turn to Emily. “And as far as morals go, you remember the part in the lecture about Draka views about living arrangements? They’re the furthest from monogamy that you can get. So you’ll have to be able to deal with the fact that Alois here will have more than you as a sex partner. In fact, no pretty buck or wench is safe around him right now, from what I hear. Emily, that’s a hurdle, just like the religious one, that you’ll have to maneuver if you want to keep this as a relationship. I’d almost advise you to chalk it up to a wonderful experience, and leave it as that.”

“But…I love Alois,” the young woman squeaks, tears forming again in her blue eyes.

“No, you like him, and you made love with him. There needs to be a friendship there first, and then you have all these cultural roadblocks to get past in order to have a relationship.” I stand up and walk over to where Gwen’s sitting. I turn back to Emily, holding her eyes with mine. “I had to deal with that fact, when I found myself in love with Gwen. She’s Draka; she’s not monogamous, or even what I’d call primarily gay. She takes her pleasure her way, and I have to deal with that. If I want the relationship.”

“But you’re her favorite.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m her only one, far from it.” I grin. “Some of the combinations have even confused me, and I thought I was pretty urbane about all this.”

“Oh.”

She sounds so sad, I think. “Listen, kids, it’s not doom and gloom time. Go out, have a good time today, doing your own thing, and don’t worry about all this. Give it some time, give yourselves time to think about all this. You don’t have to make a decision right now, or anything. OK?”

“And Emily, stay off the transducer net, please,” Gwen murmurs, reaching back and stroking my hands as they rest on her shoulders. “Don’t let’s have any more…discussions about that.”

“You got on a transducer?” Alois sounds shocked.

“I was trying to talk privately with Erin,” Emily answers. She stands up. “Thanks for the talk. I feel a little better now. I still don’t know what to do…”

“You will, given time.” Gwen smiles at the two young people. “Why don’t you go… play… for a bit. We’ll catch up with you soon.”

“OK, Ma. Come on, Emily,” Alois says, holding out his hand. She takes it, blushing prettily, and they walk from the room, talking animatedly about windsurfing.

“Romeo and Juliet, anyone?” I shake my head. “This was…unexpected.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t end like Romeo and Juliet…and yes, I wasn’t quite prepared for this. Should have seen it coming, though; Alois is randy enough to mount almost anything.”

I stroke the hair from her face. “I don’t think it’s purely sex that’s driving this. They’re acting like they’re in love, Gwen.”

“That could be even more complicated, don’t you think? Let’s hope for youthful exuberance and mutual lust, and leave the love till later.” Gwen takes my hand. “How about a shower, my sweet?”


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

**  
Cool droplets of water startle me; I turn from looking out over the ocean to the edge of the bobbing raft. Alois climbs aboard and grins whitely at me. I smile back, and toss him a towel. “Having fun, merman?”

“Oh, yes! Even though I know now not to wrestle with Ma, underwater.” He looks somewhat ruefully at a long pink strip of newly-healed flesh along one leg. “She dragged me over some coral, and it hurt like the seven hells!!”

“She plays to win.”

He cocks his head to one side, looking at me from under long blond bangs. “Don’t we all?”

“I guess…” I look out over the small whitecaps, towards the yacht. “Most of the time.”

“Don’t you play to win, Tantie-ma?” He finishes toweling himself relatively dry, and sits next to me, slowly stroking my back.

The touch of his hand, so gentle, so hot…odd images juxtaposed in my mind. Holding his hand as a toddler, walking along a leaf-strewn trail; watching his hands caress Jennifer as he said goodbye to her when we were leaving for this vacation…his hand on my flesh now. I shiver, slightly, and of course, he notices. I clear my throat, and sigh, deeply. “Um…well. Yes. I play to survive. Whether that means winning or not—that’s the question.”

“You’re not very happy this morning. You’re tense. What’s wrong? The thing about Emily?”

I turn to look him straight in the eyes. “Did Gwen suggest the seduction to you? Tell me, for true now. I’m Tantie-ma, don’t lie to me.”

“You’re Erin, my mother’s honored saafn…as well as Tantie-ma.” He grins. “Honestly, no, she didn’t put me up to it. It just happened. I mean, I figured what the hell. The worst she could say is no; I thought she was ready for it. I also knew that she had some sort of pheromonal dampening system. I didn’t know what or how it worked. So I just concentrated on everything else, and it…happened. Surprisingly nice ride, for a virgin...”

“Oy, vey…” I roll my eyes. “Spoken like a true Draka.” I elbow him gently in the ribs. 

“I am that, if nothing else.” Alois puts his arm around me and hugs. “I’m different, though. Listen, while Ma’s underwater scaring the sharks, could I tell you something? I’m…well, worried isn’t the right word. Concerned.”

“Sure.” I lean against him, and close my eyes. The scent of a fresh, clean Draka; my own body; the ever-present salt tang of the ocean surrounding us, and the slight aroma of fruit coming from the cooling unit on the raft greet me, as I breathe deeply. “What is it, my love?”

“Um…” He hesitates, and then continues after a long moment. “I’m different. I really didn’t look forward to going away, to academy. You know that. But it’s more than that. I’ve had a private conversation or two with the august Pilot First Class Alexandra, and she agrees. It’s… the generation of Draka born and raised on Earth/2, like us, are different from the Draka from Prime Line. It’s a very subtle thing. But more and more, especially at school now, I’m noticing things.”

“Like what?” Curiosity rages through me, but I force a calm, almost disinterested tone to my voice. 

“We’re more inclined to be lenient with our serfs; we enjoy having human serfs more than Servus, for some reason; we’re also more inclined to be less… ah… well, gung-ho than some of our Prime Line contemporaries. We’re just as ruthless, though; just as good at kicking ass as any of them. But it’s like we think differently, or something.”

“Is this something you and Alexa have talked about a lot?”

He laughs, softly. “No. Usually, when Alexa and I talk, we argue. We’re two people who’re usually at the opposite ends of a spectrum. You know that, you’ve known that for years now. No… I’ve talked a couple of times with her, but I’ve talked with quite a few of my Earth/2 classmates. We’re definitely a subgroup, or a subculture. People are noticing, and talking. I wanted to discuss it with you, and then, once I have all my ducks in a row, talk with Ma about it. It’s something she needs to know, don’t you think?”

“I think she already has some idea.” Several yards away, Emily surfaces in a splash, followed by Gwen and David. The Samothracians’ face masks peel away like disappearing quicksilver, and the three of them begin a race toward the raft through the mounting whitecaps. “Gwen, my darling, keeps her eyes open; she knows more about what’s going on than any three people I’ve ever met. She’s aware. But if you like, talk with me more about it and then talk with her. I think she’d appreciate your interest in political matters; you tend to steer clear of them and focus on your love of history instead.”

“I know. Shocking, isn’t it? Scandalous!” He chuckles and kisses me firmly on the top of my head. “Thanks, Tantie-ma. We’ll talk again, and I’ll follow your advice. You’re special, you know that?”

“Nah, not me. I’m just Erin.” I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze. “You silly ole thing.”

“Hey, we better grab ourselves a snack before the water-churning hordes arrive…” He opens the case and tosses me a drink, and a tangerine. He grabs two or three apples and a water bottle for himself, and we sit back and watch the three forms knifing through the water toward our raft. Overhead, the bright blue Caribbean sky arches; the freshening breeze feels good on my sun- and Draka-warmed skin. Inside, my thoughts race. Has it actually sort of worked? Will the difference matter? Will it last? Will Gwen let it? Or am I a brass-bound fool? I smile at the phrase, a favorite of my grandfather’s. Papaw used to say that all the time about politicians; I hope I haven’t become one.

**  
The door shushes open and Gwen walks through, tiredly tossing her blacks and her belt, along with its sheathed layer knife and plasma pistol, onto the desk near the bed. Suddenly, her eyes flash as her head swivels, finding me kneeling, grinning, in the middle of her oversized, built-for-Draka-strong bed. 

I’m wearing a lacy negligee; black, with white foams of lace in unlikely places. I’ve let my hair down, out of the braid I’ve taken to wearing it in (a few days ago, Tom made a joke about seeing Janis Joplin in the hallway, so now I braid the long curls that I have, so they don’t frizz around me). It hangs, curls glinting dark blonde in the firelight, and my smile grows wider as Gwen approaches the bedside.

She stands there, long and lean and incredibly muscled; she just stands there, looking at me. No smile crosses her face, and a sliver of worry stabs me. “Good evening, Muhmis!”

Gwen coolly looks me up and down; the alternating shadow and rose red of the firelight coloring my body. I see her nostrils flare slightly, ever so slightly on that aquiline nose of hers; she’s taking my scent. I sigh, softly, and run my hands through my thick, long hair.

“A bit presumptuous, aren’t you, wench?” Her voice is cool.

Ah, well. I had thought she could use some R and R after today’s negotiation session with David Packard, but obviously I was mistaken, I think. Now to extract myself from her bedchamber with a fanny I can sit on comfortably tomorrow. “Yes, Muhmis, a bit.” I hang my head down, letting my bangs cover my embarrassment. Suddenly, some demon inside me pipes up: “But I thought you liked my initiative.”

Standing there, hands on hips, Gwen snorts, then chuckles. “Yes. I said that.”

“I’ll leave now, Muhmis, forgive me for intruding,” I murmur, sliding over to the edge of the bed. The silken sheets make sliding a bit treacherous, and I end up moving faster than I thought I was going to be; I balance myself by grabbing the bolster at the end of the bed.

Gwen moves in a blur, catching me and pulling me to her. “Who said anything about leaving?”

“But since I’m presumptuous…” I say quietly, my lips moving against the hot skin of her chest, my arms wrapped around her neck, fingers laced behind her head. “I thought I should leave…”

Suddenly, her hand is woven into my hair, and she pulls hard enough to make me squeak. My head’s tilted back until all I can see is her face, her eyes. “My wench…my little pet.”

Oh, I hate that phrase, I think to myself, and watch Gwen’s lips curl into their customary almost-smile. Damn it, I subvocalized!

“I know you detest that phrase, and I used it with intent,” Gwen whispers, her lips scant inches from mine. Her breath smells of mint, and an underlying tang of wine. “You are my pet. You’re mine.”

She shakes my head for emphasis, and runs a hand around from my ass, up between my thighs, up my abdomen, across my breasts, to my throat, where it stays, lightly gripping me with fingers stronger than steel. “You’re mine, Erin. All mine. No matter what else changes, that shall never change. My will is implacable concerning that; no sweet talk of yours will change it. You know that, don’t you?”

“Y-y-yes, Muhmis,” I manage. She’s got the dominance pheromones cranked up, and the fear ones; underlying those is the sexual lust building between us, despite my fright. I’ve been around her for so many years now, I should be able to judge her mood…this is scary, different. I’m not sure what to do, so I don’t do anything but try to look at the bedcovers.

“All mine, for as long as we both have life…” the Draka whispers in my ear; shivering, I nod. She goes on: “This will never change. There may be emigration, there may be changes in status for some humans” her voice going hard at the word, “but not for you. Not for you, my presumptuous pet. My little human wench…”

Her hand loosens its grip in my hair, and I begin to pull back a little. Gwen’s mouth finds mine, in a bruisingly strong kiss. Her tongue probes deep, thrusting past my lips, a firebrand to light the bonfire of lust that’s been building. “Mmmmpphhh…Muhmis, please…”

“Please? Please?” Gwen mimics my voice, smiling. “When I please, my little pony-girl. When I please.” She pushes me backwards onto the bed, and smoothly slides on top of me, her hips thrusting against mine. I gasp, and start to cry out, but my moan is muffled by her mouth again. She takes my hands and pins them above my head with one of hers, and lets the other hand roam where she wills… the night’s pleasure beginning.

Just before I lose the conscious ability to think, I raise up against her, interrupting her enjoyment of what’s beneath my negligee for a moment. I tug at my hands, still pinned by one of hers, and she relents, letting them loose. I cradle her head in my hands, and look deeply into her eyes. Human to Draka, I whisper hoarsely, “Yes. Yes, I’m yours. No matter what else. I know that. But you’re mine. And you know that.”

Her eyes widen for a moment in surprise; her body tensing on mine. Then laughter like the pealing of some living bronze bell rings through the bedchamber. Finally, long moments later, Gwen collects herself enough to answer intelligibly: “If you want to think that, my Erin, you may. I’ll allow you that. But frankly,” as she finishes shredding the black silk from my body and tossing it behind her on the floor, “I don’t really care to have you thinking very much at all right now. What I want is this… and this…” As I moan with pleasure almost too intense to bear, I hear her answering laughter, chuckling in the fire-lit darkness. It leads us to new heights and plateaus… places we’d never been before.

Afterwards, both of us basking in the warm glow of post-coital bliss, stretched out next to each other, my mind returns to the topic I’d whispered to Gwen earlier. I roll over onto my side, facing her, and stroke a fingertip along her jawline. Her eyes flicker open, and she smiles lazily. “Gwen?”

“Mmmh?”

“I meant what I said…you know, before you sent me to the Moon and back…”

She brushes her thick, mahogany-red hair out of her face as she sits up. Muscles ripple as she moves smoothly into a lotus position, facing me, looking down out of those impossibly green eyes of hers. “I know you were serious, Erin.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

Her laughter is kinder that it was before, when I had told her she was as much mine as I was hers. Gwen reaches out and tousles my hair gently. “Darlin’…”

I sit up. “Please? Just try.” I take her hands in mine, and look earnestly into her eyes. “Gwen, I know you don’t trust anyone. Not really. None of you Draka do; you don’t even really trust your own family, even.”

“We’re self-sufficient, and solitary by nature.” She leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. “That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy you.”

I let go of her hands and cup her face gently. She blinks in surprise; I can feel the slight tensing that means she really doesn’t like what I’m doing. I continue, regardless. “Gwen, my Gwen, listen to me now. This is important, to both of us. And in a larger sense, important to all those people, Draka and human, out there…” I bob my head toward the window, indicating the world outside. Swallowing hard, I continue:

“You know I love you. You know I’d die for you if I had to; I’ve almost done that several times. I’ve saved your life at the risk of my own. But more than that, I love you despite your culture. Despite the fact that I’m your serf. What I’m asking you to do now is hard—really hard. I want you to trust me. Really trust me.”

“Erin, I…”

“Gwen, Gwendolyn, please. It’s just us here. Just the two of us. No one else is here, no one else will know. But it’s important. You need to dominate me. It’s a drive, almost a compulsion in you. I accept that. I accept you. I serve you. I have to do those things, Gwen. Have to. But I love you. I don’t have to do that. You love me; you don’t have to. We’ve managed, somehow, how the hell I don’t know, to rise above the rules your society has set down about humans and Draka. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t think you do, either.”

She covers my hands with hers, and then pulls them down to rest on her marble-hard thighs. “Erin, you’re so intense about this…really. I love you. It took me a long time to be able to say that in the same way that you say it to me, but I do. What’s all this about?”

“You can choose to trust me. You don’t trust anyone. Somewhere, sometime, you used to. You used to trust someone. But you haven’t for a long, long time. I want to give this to you—I want to tell you it’s okay to trust me. There are places in your head I’ll never see—just like there are places in my mind you’ll never visit. But please, we can share a trust. Try. Try, dammit, and see if you can reach out and actually trust a human.”

Her face goes very, very still; only the glittering of her eyes in the dying firelight show that she’s thinking, rapidly. Her hands have tightened on mine, almost painfully, and I wait, silent now, for what may come.

Her eyes have filled with tears. I almost gasp, knowing how rarely Gwen ever shows emotions like this. Gwen blinks them away, but not before one has trickled down her left cheek. I reach up, disengaging my right hand from her grip, and brush the tear away, wordlessly. I notice that her hair is bristling slightly, and her ears are laying back; she’s uncomfortable as hell, apparently. She still, after several minutes of silence, hasn’t spoken.

Suddenly, she gets out of bed and walks rapidly to the wet bar on the other side of her office. As I watch, she pours a snifter of brandy, and downs it in one gulp. Her back is to me, and as I watch, her left hand curls into a fist. My stomach lurches, and I become very aware of my nakedness. If I’ve angered her, not just annoyed, but angered, then I’m probably, possibly, dead.

Gwen stands there, looking out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over her planet, her universe that she rules. It’s all hers. I’m hers. The whole damn universe is hers, I think, watching her. And she knows it. So why does me asking her to trust me upset her so much?

My eyes keep going back to that fist. She’s standing still, that utter, inhuman stillness that Draka can manage so well; finally I see her fist flex once, twice…and then relax, opening to let her fingers hang down normally by her side. I hear her take a deep breath, and then she turns to me.

“Want a drink?”

“Um, yes, Muhmis.”

She turns back to the bar and pours herself another brandy; she selects a bottle of wine, too, and brings it and a glass over to the bed with her. She sits down at the head of the bed, pushing some pillows against the headboard, and, having set the brandy down on a side table, she opens the wine for me and pours me a glass. She puts the wine bottle on the side table, and sips at her brandy.

I take the glass of wine and slowly drink it down; my eyes are still watching her, over the rim of the goblet. Gwen closes her eyes, tiredly, and pats the bed next to her. “Up here, my wench.”

I move up to where she is immediately, and wonder if I can snuggle. I better wait, I think, until she tells me somehow that it’s okay. I curl up next to her, and pull the covers up with one hand. It’s growing chilly in these pre-dawn hours here on Andros.

“Trust.” Gwen sighs. “I finally get to the point where I can say I love you, despite the warnings of my friends and my mother, despite the fact that you’re my serf, my property…and now you want trust, too?”

I nod, slowly. “Is it too much to ask?”

The Draka next to me snorts. “Too much? What’s too much?” She sighs again, and sips more from the brandy in her hand. “No. Not too much, just…difficult. You’re quite right. I don’t trust anyone. Nor do most Draka. It’s not a wise thing to do. Erin, I’m not sure you know the enormity of what you’re asking me to do.”

“I do, believe me. I’m asking you to trust someone, and not only that, someone of a subject species. But I wouldn’t ask if I thought you couldn’t do it. I think you can; I think you’re flexible enough to learn to trust me. It’s important, Gwen.”

“Why so important?”

Now how the hell do I say this, without saying it in a way that will lose me my head, I think to myself. I drink the rest of my wine in one gulp, and begin: “It’s important to us…to our relationship. There has to be a mutual trust established, Gwen. For the relationship to be able to grow with us, over time. The friendship’s there, the lust certainly is, and the love’s growing. But it needs trust.”

I look up into her eyes. “But you need to learn to trust in order to grow in other ways, too. We’ve talked before about changes—and you’re implementing them. The immigration plan, for instance. That’s a huge step away from the traditional Draka viewpoint. But it’s only the first. You have a chance here to create a different…world…than the one you came from. It’s already begun, Gwen. Our children are the proof. They’re different from their Prime Line generation buddies.”

“Alois has been talking with you, then.”

“He’s talked to you? About that?”

Gwen smiles. “Yes, nervously. Briefly.”

“Well, it’s only natural to be nervous about discussing that topic with the Planetary Archon. I’m nervous talking with you right now.”

“I know,” Gwen says. “I can scent it. Come here, sweetlin’…” 

I move under her opened arm, and snuggle against her side, feeling the warmth from her body flowing into mine. “Please, Gwen, it’s all about adapting.”

“But it’s me adapting to you, and it should be you adapting to me.” Her arm tightens a bit around me.

“It’s not a one way street, Gwen. It’s both of us, adapting to each other. In order to survive, in order to grow, we have to adapt. And part of your adapting to me is trust. Part of my adapting to you was the same…I had to trust that you weren’t a sadist, that you wouldn’t destroy me. I know you can kill me; a word or even a gesture on your part means I’m dead. But I trust you enough not to worry about that. Is that foolish of me?”

“No, of course not. And no, I’m not just saying that to keep you manageable. One must show a serf limits, but keeping them in mortal terror leads to…well, basically a complete breakdown on their part. Plus, it’s not very enjoyable on the owner’s part, at least not for most Draka. I know, darlin’, that there is always one order I could give you that you won’t obey, even if it means your death. That’s part of being an owner—knowing that. Managing that. But…”

“But what? It’s impossible to trust those under you? Or next to you, as it may be?” I tickle her ribs lightly with a fingertip. “Since your culture is based on enserfment, it’s always a worry that the serfs will rise up?”

“It used to be that way; we of the New Race don’t worry about that now. Or we didn’t; I think you humans have brought some of that worry back. The agitation, for example, that Jennifer was telling me about. That in itself brings instinctual reactions into play.”

“That’s what I’m trying to get you to grow past. Yes, the instinctual reactions are good, and fast, and protective. But they’re also things that hold you back.”

“Hold me back from what, Erin? I rule this universe; I own you; I’m happily married, have lovely children…”

“Hold you back from becoming all you can be. You have potentials you’ve never even tapped. It’s simply easier—less work—to stay with tradition. With instinct. What if, like the new generation of youngsters coming off this planet, you could grow beyond those limits?”

“Again, let’s go back to being concrete. You’re very good at philosophizing, but that doesn’t buy me any yams. What in the hells would I gain, by trusting a serf?” Her voice is gentle, but I hear steel behind it.

“You’d gain…you’d gain the knowledge that instincts aren’t everything. There are some times when your instincts lead you to make erroneous decisions. You know it, at the time, but you’re driven by those invisible demons anyway. You’d gain power over them. You’d gain… the ability to adapt more quickly, more efficiently. You’d gain tremendously in terms of friendships. And friendships, alliances, mean a hell of a lot to you, my lovely Draka politician.”

“I’m not sure you know how hard it is for me to trust a human, Erin.”

“I know. It’s equally as hard for a human to trust a Draka, but some of us manage. I think you could, too.”

“Putting it as a challenge. Aren’t you the cute one.” Gwen kisses me, long and hard. “I’ll think on it. That’s as much—no, now listen—that’s as much as I can say right now. I can’t change instantaneously into a warm, fuzzy, trusting, loving Draka. In fact, I may not be able to change that much at all. But I will think about it. That has to be good enough for you, since that’s all I’m able to give you right now. In terms of…discussion. But I am able to give you something else…”

Her mouth finds mine, and soon, my cry of arousal greets the dawn.

**  
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, Gwen,” David Packard says. We’re sitting on an open-air porch, watching the sunlight move across the impossibly blue waters surrounding Andros Island. Breakfast has come and gone, and coffee, too; I wondered why David sent Alois and Emily off swimming and remained behind. Now I think I’m about to find out.

“Hmmm…charming phrase. What is it that you’d like to discuss?” Gwen’s smooth, bronze voice seems to shimmer in the warmth; the palms above the porch make squeaking noises as their fronds wave in the soft breeze. The scent of the ocean is strong here; we’re only steps away from the rhythmically curling waves. Seagulls circle overhead; their raucous cries the only other noise here.

“I was thinking of this being a private discussion…” He glances at me, and I look down, blushing. Gwen’s just sent me a message via transducer to stay and observe the Samothracian during this little talk; I can’t very well just get up and leave now.

“What you can say to me can be said in front of my honored saafn, my Prime Councilor. If you feel uncomfortable about that, that’s too bad. I want her here. I value her feedback and ideas.” Muhmis’ voice is firm.

David sighs. “All right. You and I haven’t played many games, political games, with each other, Gwen. You and I both are military folks; we prefer straight talk over diplomatic blather. Am I right?”

“In other words, you want me to respond, or at least listen, as the military commander of all Draka forces in this universe, not as the political head of the Domination here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Gwen smiles, cupping her hands around a steaming mug of coffee. She takes a deep breath, inhaling silently. I know in addition to the smooth smell of the coffee, she’s taking in our scents. David’s will be muted, since he’s wearing his pheromonal dampener, but Gwen’s already figured out how it works, and how to work around it. She did that after screwing my brains out this morning; I heard her pleased laughter in the other room as I showered. She enjoys overcoming little technical obstacles like that; it’s the same pleasure I get from putting a puzzle together.

“Then talk. I’ll listen.” She turns her leaf-green predator’s gaze onto the Samothracian; despite his training, he blushes a little under the direct look.

“I want to talk with you about the Bugs. I know there are some Draka on the Archonal Council who plan on waiting until the Bugs show up again before attacking them. I think that’s a mistake. I also know there are Samothracian leaders with the same mind-set, and they’re the ones setting policy at the moment. Gwen, we can’t afford to let the Bugs strike first again. We almost didn’t fight them off last time. We may not get the chance to do it again…”

My eyebrows mirror my owner’s; we’ve both raised them in surprise. I notice that David’s hands are holding the arms of his rattan chair with a white-knuckled grip; that, more than what he’s said, impresses me the most. I make a note of it and send it, via transducer, to Gwen. She nods, slowly, and sips from her coffee mug.

“Yes, there are those among the brothers and sisters of the Race who feel that we shouldn’t expend the resources to look for the Bugs, since they’ll come to us sometime soon.”

“But can’t you see, that’s a mistake?” David counters.

“Of course I can see that. I wasn’t numbering myself among the ‘wait and see’ crowd. There are several Planetary Archons and Legates who agree more with you and I than with the official party line of the Archonate.”

David pounces on that: “Then work with me. I think we need to explore, find out where the Bugs came from, and strike first. Strike hard. Otherwise, we don’t have much of a chance. It was too much of a damn close thing last time.”

“What do I get if I work with you, David? Other than a reputation as a Draka who works well with Samothracians?” Gwen grins, showing even white teeth, bright in the Caribbean sunlight.

“I can help push for your increased emigration policy. I can push for more technology exchange. But you’ve got to help me on this, and it can’t be…public knowledge.” He glances at me, his blue eyes holding mine in a silent challenge of sorts.

“What’s said here is confidential, of course,” I say quietly. Gwen nods, and reaches over to stroke my thigh. Her hand moving along the black silk of my sarong tempts my mind into other areas of thought, but I firmly push it back to business. “How could Muhmis help you? Can’t you just take a couple of patrol craft and go looking?”

“I’ll need more than that. I need analysis, to find out if we can tell where or when the Bugs came from. I need weapons, weapons I can’t just requisition. That’s where the Draka come into play. Yes, I can provide a couple of patrol craft, and crew, but that’s it. I need resources.”

“We’ve been doing analyses ourselves, and we’re still not sure where/when the Bugs emerged. Extrapolating from combat reports, and outpost transmissions is helping some, but we still don’t have a firm fix on that. And how can I provide weapons without the Archonate knowing?” Gwen leans forward, interested.

David sighs. “I don’t know. All I know is that we need to do something, even if it means putting our careers on the line. It’s survival we’re talking about.”

My mind seems to have a mind of its own; I sit, seemingly daydreaming, while Gwen and David figure out how to put Draka weapons on board Samothracian patrol craft. The question of where the Bugs emerged from, or when…there’s something niggling at the back of my mind, and I finally just relax, sighing, and look out over the ocean. Something…

“Muhmis?”

Gwen turns back to me. “Joining us again?” She’s amused, by the tone of her voice.

“Um…yeah. Yes. I was just thinking… remember the first few experiments, out in the Belt, when you were working on the molehole concept? I remember Tamarindus talking about them, and I just accessed all the reports I’m allowed access to…”

“Yes?” Gwen crosses her ankles, legs flashing chocolate-brown in the sunlight, under her bright silk sarong. David’s eyes flash to them, and then back to me; even he’s not immune to Gwen’s beauty.

“Do you remember the accidents? The ones where the servus scientists and their Draka supervisors were killed?”

“Yes,” Gwen murmurs, wincing a little. The results of the accidents were…horrific.

“Their bodies were…amalgamated…with something else. At the time, it was thought to be just an artifact of the accident. But if you look at the…remains, especially the Taurus Beta cases, you find something very interesting. They died, all right, but the bodies were fused with other…pieces. Arachnid pieces, Muhmis. Now compare them with pictures we have of the Bugs…” I command a hologram to appear, and one does, floating obediently in front of the three of us.

David gasps audibly, and Gwen sits up straight, eyes wide. I continue: “Look at the similarities. They have to be Bugs. I think we glommed onto their timeline, and if that’s true, we can trace back, looking at the experiments, to see when and where they are. Can’t we?”

“Great gods above and below! You’re right!” Gwen says, rapidly running over the data I’ve provided her through our linked transducers.

“My Lord…” David mutters. “It’s the key…it’s the doorway. We’ve…you’ve had it, all along, but no one thought to look at it. This is fantastic, Erin. Really great! Now we can figure out where and when to go…if we can arm enough ships to make a difference.”

“Several orbital battle platforms would work, wouldn’t they?” Gwen’s voice is hungry with her battle-lust rising. “We’ll work out something. I can manage that end of things. You just get me some ships, David, and your crews, and we’ll provide the firepower. This is wonderful…”

I blush. “I just sort of thought about it, and let it come to me. We should have thought of it a long time ago!”

“We’ve been too busy. Now we have a link to them, and perhaps we can do something about that. The question remains, how can we build up a fleet and arm it without the Presidential Group and the Archonal Council knowing about it?” David asks.

“How about developing an exploration-cum-settlement fleet? It could be armed, secretly, if you really wanted to…” The idea pops out of my head and my mouth at the same time.

“Intriguing. What do you think, Gwen?”

“I think Erin’s a treasure.” She reaches over and strokes the side of my face. “But as for the plan, let’s see what we can do in terms of practicalities…I think it could work. I think it will work. The human mind never ceases to amaze me.”

David’s mouth opens and shuts; he’s as shocked by her compliment, to both of us, actually, as if she had leapt upon him and ravished him right then and there. He runs a hand through his hair, and grins. “Then we have an agreement?”

“Yes. Indeed. We’ll make a little exploration group up, and make sure they’re armed. Extremely well-armed. In exchange, you support my increased emigration plans. Yes?”

The Samothracian nods. “Yes. I’ll do that.”

“Erin, download the plans for the increased emigration plans, and give David a hardcopy. He has upper-level privileges, as far as security measures go. Understand?”

“Yes, Muhmis. Done.” I send the files, edited slightly for his viewing, to a printer in Gwen’s office here on Andros; soon a servus brings them to us, in an actual file folder. No matter how advanced we get, there’s always paperwork. I thank the youngster, who grins and bows her way off the porch; handing the documents to David, I pause, holding on to them for a moment as he takes them.

“You do realize the historical significance of this, don’t you, Commander? This is the first time in history that a Planetary Archon has allowed upper level security privileges to a Samothracian. How things change…” I smile, releasing the papers into his hands.

“We’re managing to work together much better than I would ever have thought. I do appreciate this, Archon. And Prime Councilor. Believe me.” He smiles back, and sits back in his chair, flipping through the hard copy, eyes scanning the pages almost as fast as a Draka can read. “Lord’s sake, when you scale up emigration, you don’t do things half-way, do you, Gwen?”

“Never,” Muhmis murmurs, nibbling on a croissant and letting the toes of her right foot stroke my left calf. “Never.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13

**  
Oh, Peter, I sigh. Peter…I wish you were here. I miss you. I keep thinking that time will make it hurt less, that you’re gone, but it doesn’t…I don’t know how Gwen deals with all her losses. I guess I’ll have to learn, now with the unlimited life span I have. I sip at my margarita and sigh again, deeply.

Peter, you wanted to rebel right away…I’m not sure she ever really tamed you. Under that femme exterior was the heart of a lion, and you never really gave up. I gave up…on my freedom, but not on freedom for our people. Our people… I chuckle. The young Servus who’s brought me my drink looks my way, somewhat nervously, and smiles. I smile back, and then look back out over the azure sea.

Our people—what a concept. Most of them are frightened of me now, me and the handful of other humans that have been modified. There are five of us at last count; Tamarindus has two, on Mars; there are two on the moon base, and there’s little ole me. Our people don’t know the sacrifices I’ve made to win them the tiny freedoms they have. They just grumble about not being chosen yet, and what the latest stock prices are, and how come people aren’t allowed to migrate to Mars…

Have to watch this, this alienation…oh, Petey, if you were here, you’d snap me out of it with some quick witticism, some sarcastic snippet that only you and I would understand. You’d like the young Servus standing over there by the bar on the hacienda. He’s your type. You’d be proud of our son. Patrick’s devoted to Alexandra, and to flying. Whenever they take leave to come home, which is rare now, all I hear about from him are technical specs on the latest fighter. He probably flies in his sleep. He’s the spitting image of you, too, Peter…my eyes, your hair, and your build.

A line of pelicans, brown and somehow awkward-looking, make their way slowly across my line of sight, making for their bedroom by the sea. Have I managed to do anything, Peter? Anything of value? I’ve buried you…my daughter May…my brood daughter Ariadne…friends. I’ve seen my marriage get up and walk away. That thought brings tears, hot and salty, to my eyes, and I snuffle in embarrassment. Damn it, I thought I was over the tears. She left me, and that’s it. It’s over. Done with. But I still wake up at night and ask myself why. Over and over again. Real productive, that…

“Erin?”

Wiping my eyes hurriedly, I look up into the gathering dusk to see Emily standing next to my deck chair. She looks concerned; her long hair is moving softly in the evening breeze, and she’s clad in a simple sarong of mine. Actually, it used to be Alice’s…but I liked it so much she gave it to me. Now I’ve given it away, I think, to a Samothracian who’s secretly lovers with my owner’s son. Good lord, how things get convoluted around here…

“I’m ok. Swallowed wrong.” I wave a hand at a nearby chair. “Care to join an old woman and her margarita?”

“What’s that?” She smiles and pulls over the chair so it’s next to mine.

“Oh, chile…here, try a sip. Get some of the salt, first…”

“Urk!” She chokes a little. “I’m not used to this alcohol. How about I get a fruit drink instead?” 

I call the young man tending bar over, and he immediately scurries off to prepare her a pineapple flurry. They don’t have pineapples on Samothrace, and Emily seems determined to have some every day before she leaves. That and mangoes, her two favorites. He brings the drink over after a moment at the bar, and bows his way back to his post.

“Good?” I nod my head toward her frosty mug. She nods, sipping. “Sorry about the margarita, I thought you might like it. It’s a little fruit-ish.”

“But it’s so…strong. You’re going to be really… sloshed!”

“Not me. Not on only one drink. Now if this was a kamikaze…”

“That sounds lethal!”

I laugh. “Oh, yeah…my old bar drink. A couple of those, and you don’t feel any pain, that’s for damn sure. I wouldn’t recommend them to you, darlin’…”

“Would you give me some advice?” Her voice turns serious.

I glance over my shoulder at the Servus, and decide safer’s better than sorry. I use my transducer to send him along his merry way, adding several hefty credits to his spending account at the same time. He’s happy, walking with a bounce in his stride, back toward the house. “Yes, now that we’re alone, what would you like to know from the Maven of Margaritas?”

“Seriously…” Emily laughs. “Please?”

“Okay.” I sit up, and look her straight in the eyes. “I’m serious now. Ask away.”

“What do I do about Alois? He sent me roses today, a whole dozen.”

“It runs in the family. They seduce you, then shower you with roses. It must be in the Ingolfsson gene structure somewhere…”

“Gwen did that to you?”

“Honey, she seduced me so fast I didn’t know what happened until a couple of weeks later, when my head stopped spinning. The Ingolfssons are like that. I talked with Alois, by the way, and he’s quite… taken… by you.”

“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.”

This is different, I think to myself, watching the shadows deepen across the carefully tended yard. Glow globes come on, floating in their assigned paths around the house like stately ghosts with flashlights. I would have thought it’d be the other way around… “What do you mean, Emily?”

“I mean…he seems so…intent. Is that just his way of getting me back in bed, or what? I don’t know what the social cues are for Draka, despite that wonderful acculturation show of yours. I don’t want to get too heavily involved. I mean, it just couldn’t ever work out…between the two of us…you know?”

“Don’t count it down and out before it’s down and out. Cut yourself some slack, here, honey. This is an idyll, in the sun, by the ocean…you don’t have to make lifetime commitments out of it if you don’t want to. But on the other hand, you don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” I sip from my drink. “You have a great deal more latitude in that area than I did.”

“Did she…um… force you…I mean, to like women?” The young woman sounds curious, I think. Hmm…

“No! I liked girls long before I met Gwen. She merely…reinforced that. You know how pan-specific their hormones are. It really doesn’t matter what you like, if their pheromones hit you. You’d think she was the sexiest thing on two legs if you let your guard down.”

“Never!” Emily sounds scandalized. “I’d…”

“You’d be like a cat with a bowl of cream, darlin’…believe me. Or drop those dampener shields and find out.” I grin at her, in the darkness.

“Um…so I guess you really do know about them.”

“Yes.” I finish my drink and set it on the deck between us, and sit up. I lean toward her chair, smiling. I put on an artificially creaky voice, something out of the nineteen fifties-era horror movies, although Emily wouldn’t know that. “We know many things, my dear…heh heh heh…” Then I move.

“What are you…mmmpphh!…doing…Erin!” She gasps my name when I finally let her come up for air.

“Just a little word to the wise…they’ve taught me a thing or two about pheromones. Be careful, darlin, and if you like Alois, go to him. Okay?”

“I can’t believe you just…kissed me…” Emily stands up and walks to the balcony. She turns suddenly and walks back over to me. “Can you take it as well as dish it out?”

Several moments later, I am one damn surprised woman, catching my breath as Emily sits across my lap.

“Good lord! I had no idea you could kiss like that…”

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, Erin!” She laughs and dances away when I reach for her. We hear voices approaching, and turn to meet Gwen and David coming up the glob-lit pathway, deep in conversation. Horses, this time… at least they’re not negotiating any more. I’m getting worn out by all this high-powered stuff, I think to myself.

Emily perches along the railing, looking as innocent as a baby’s smile… I grin, knowing that she just knocked my socks off. For a straight woman…she sure can kiss. I’ve never kissed a completely straight woman before, like that…no wonder Alois is taken with her. My, my, my…

“Good evening, Muhmis, sir…could I get you some refreshment? I just sent the Servus boy away…thought it was getting late, and he should go enjoy himself some.” I stand up, making the obligatory half bow to Gwen. She smiles broadly at me, and winks.

“I’d like a sherry, sweetlin’…you, David?”

“I think I’d enjoy some of that Jack Daniels you gave me last time, Erin. Thanks.” They sit down on the other chairs, arranging themselves so we’ll be sitting in a circle. Emily retrieves her drink from next to Gwen’s chair, giving my Muhmis the once-over quickly as she does so. I hear Gwen’s voice in my head, carefully using a channel we know the Samothracians can’t monitor:

What’s this? She’s…excited. What in the world have you two been up to out here, my wench?

Um…nothing. I mean, well, not much. Surprising each other. I think I’m more surprised that she is. Ah…it’s hard to explain. I’ll try to explain much more clearly when we’re alone. I’m confused right now, Gwen…

Her laughter echoes softly in my mind… Ah, you humans…so complex. She certainly has an intriguing scent. Alois will be along shortly; I’m sure he’ll enjoy it, too. A mental caress comes next, with the effect of making me startle somewhat, sloshing some of the Jack as I pour it into a shot glass.

I pout a little at Gwen; David and Emily are animatedly discussing the idea of importing pineapples and mangoes to Samothrace, and completely miss Gwen sticking her tongue out at me. She’s usually so cool, calm and collected…this is interesting behavior, in itself. Maybe we all have spring fever or something. Buck fever…hell, I don’t know. Something.

I bring the drinks over and curl up on the deck next to Gwen’s chair, sighing with pleasure as she runs her free hand through my hair. I definitely must’ve been a cat in a former lifetime…

“How are the…arrangements…going?” Gwen looks down at me with a speculative look.

“They’re going, Muhmis. About all I can say.” I grin back at her and at David, who smiles. Emily looks a little lost, and raises an eyebrow.

“What’s going?”

“Need to know, dear.” David pats her leg and sips his whiskey. “You’ll know soon enough.”

“Ugh! I am tired of all this cloak and dagger stuff…” She shrugs, and looks out over the ocean. The moon’s coming up, bright and round, and it lights a pathway to the horizon with its shining orb.

I mentally agree; I’ve had to pull favors all over the planet, and a few off-planet, to get the weapons shipped and installed on schedule for the Samothracians. Draka and human alike, once you’re in the logistics chain, you can get things done with promises and horse-trading. Occasional blackmail, on a gentle level, never hurts, either, I recall. That young Merarch on Moonbase Alpha, who likes to be tied up and spanked by his little serf wenches…I just had to delicately remind him that the pleasures he enjoys are considered a bit… outrageous… by other Draka. Not that other Draka are paragons of virtue, mind you, but being subdued by serfs isn’t a common pleasure amongst the New Race.

He came through with the necessary components, and I sent him a shipment of lacy thingamabobs from a specialty store in Manhattan…he’ll enjoy them. Wearing them, that is. My grin widens, imagining the muscular, lithe Draka dressed in pink satin see-through panties with bows…

“An auric for your thoughts…” Gwen chuckles, still stroking my hair.

“Ah…well… just thinking of something funny. Tell you later, maybe. It’s all about knowing which levers to pull, switches to flick…and the logistics chain works. The plan’s going ahead on schedule, but in obedience to your orders, I can’t tell you more than that, Muhmis.” I grin up unrepentantly at her, enjoying the play of emotions across her aristocratic face. Humor wins out, and she laughs softly.

“Getting me with my own orders, and loving every moment of it…” She raises her sherry glass, in toast. “To all the work you’ve managed to do in the last couple of days, and the work your work will lead to, my honored saafn.”

David raises his glass, too. “Yes, thanks. I’m amazed at how quickly and smoothly things are moving, actually, Erin. You’re quite the manager.”

“Oh, I manage…to stay out of trouble, that is.” I smile, trying to will my blush back down. I know Gwen can see it, since she can see into the infrared, but I hope the Samos don’t notice it. “As long as Schalk doesn’t stumble across anything, I’ll be fine.”

“Isn’t that Schalk DeLange, head of security here…your husband, Gwen?” Emily says.

“Yes, and again, need to know. Let’s change the subject, so Emily won’t feel left out. How’s that? We have a few more days here, don’t we, Gwen? This is an absolutely lovely setup you’ve got here. I’m very impressed. The swimming’s been wonderful, and the food—beyond compare.” David looks meaningfully at the young Samothracian lieutenant, and she clears her throat.

“Um, yes. I’ve really enjoyed the diving…and the walks around the island…and…” Emily squirms a little, seeking some way out of her cul-de-sac. “Um, everything here.”

“Yes, you’ve certainly enjoyed everything,” Gwen murmurs sexily. “But that’s the point, actually. This is a lovely place to just relax, and do some enjoyable things before heading back to full-time duties and responsibilities. I make sure my staff has time down here as often as I can arrange it, and we also have a site in Tahiti. Your next trip out, perhaps we could go sailing there.”

“Oh, I’ve read about Tahiti…is it really as beautiful as the books say?” Emily pounces on the chance to get away from the almost-revelation of her interesting times with Alois.

Muhmis stretches and smiles like a lazy lioness. “Yes, indeed. We’ll have to go; you must see it to truly believe some of the beauty there. It’s one of Alois’ favorite vacation spots, too; we’ll see if we can’t get this little group together by juggling leave times, and that sort of thing. Make a note of that, Erin, and see what Jennifer can come up with for us. Perhaps next year, this time?”

“Yes, if everything works out the way we think it will, that would be a great rest and relaxation tour, Gwen. I’ve wanted to see the islands of the Pacific, myself. Read a lot about them, as a youngster.” David’s voice sounds like he’s lost in his memories…

“Perhaps you could bring a friend, David,” I say, leaning my head on Gwen’s marble-hard, smooth, hot thigh. The heat seems to shimmer through the brief shorts she’s wearing; that and the loose white blouse she’s wearing certainly set off her gorgeous thick mahogany red hair and almost luminous green eyes.

“Yes, perhaps.” He smiles. “That would be nice.”

“You were married, weren’t you?” Emily asks.

“Yes.” David runs his hand over his three-day beard. “Yes, I was. She died, several years ago. Out on our ranch; a wildbeast caught her away from the house and her weapons. I was on duty at the time, and the neighbors finally located me. It…was…difficult.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, David.” Gwen reaches over and actually pats him on the leg. He looks at her with ice in his eyes for a long moment; she calmly returns his stare. He looks away, and then down at her long-fingered hand on his thigh.

“I never thought I’d hear that from a Draka. I always thought you cheered with every casualty we suffered, from whatever cause. This is…unexpected.” He looks away, and then, as if his hand is moving by puppet string, he reaches down to her hand and squeezes it for a moment.

Gwen returns the pressure, not getting into a power contest, and then removes her hand. She looks completely relaxed, but I know differently; I felt her thigh tense under my ear when she first moved, and I know her ears laid back in an unconscious reflex. She was uncomfortable doing that, but it was actually heart-felt, I think, my mind amazed. She’s been stretching mighty hard these last few days.

But then again, I think, she’s always respected David Packard as a warrior. They do have that to share. And she lost her first husband to a goblin pack and a hunting accident; she still carries the pain of losing Alois the first. I don’t think what she did was calculated as a “warm fuzzy” or anything; it was something she would have done to a Draka acquaintance. Interesting, indeed.

“We are beginning to see each other as allies, which is amazing to some extent. But nevertheless, I meant what I said. I lost my first husband in a hunting accident many, many years ago. I know what it is to lose someone you love. We all do.” Gwen’s voice is pitched gentle, smooth. She picks her drink up from the deck and sips it. “That’s an experience human, Samothracian, Draka… even Servus can share. Unfortunately.”

“Are we always going to be enemies, though, politically?” Emily sounds almost wistful.

“That depends. Ah, I know, that’s a politician’s answer, sweet, but that’s as far as I can go. I am enjoying the experience of being allies with you people right now; we have a common enemy to defeat. Perhaps the negotiations will lead us to peace that’s longer lasting. It certainly wouldn’t hurt either race. In fact, it would do many good things for us, and you alike. But we’ll have to see.” Gwen smiles gently at the young woman, and I find myself wishing for peace.

“What ho, me hearties…harrr…” Alois bounces up onto the deck, grinning from ear to ear. “Dinner’s served, and I, piratical though I am, am nice enough to come tell you before I eat everything… harrr…”

“You are a good boy, Alois,” Gwen chuckles, as we all get up to go in for dinner. “A good one. Silly, but my boy.” Standing, she ruffles his thick blond hair playfully.

“I try, Ma.” He casts a sidelong glance at Emily, who finds (amazingly) a rock in her sandal at that exact moment. The two of them hang back, walking behind us, chatting animatedly. David watches them with a bemused expression on his face, and then catches Gwen and me watching him.

“Um…am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” He moves next to Gwen, looking her in the eye.

“Yes.” Gwen’s holding my hand, and squeezes it as my mouth opens. I stay quiet, letting her continue: “But please don’t be too shocked. Two lovely-looking youngsters like that, why stop them?”

“But…” He grimaces a little. “Protocol, possible complications…”

“It’s puppy love, and let’s leave it at that, shall we, David?” Gwen smiles whitely as we walk into the dining room, lit by candlelight and the moon. “Who can resist that?”

“Well…” He still looks worried. 

“Please, sir…” I say quietly. “They really are enjoying each other. There’s no harm done. It wasn’t planned, it may not last very long, but let them experience it. It’s a first for the two groups, you know. One of many on this negotiation trip. Perhaps one that will remain more private than some of the others.”

“I hope so, Erin. For our sake and theirs alike, I hope so.” He finally smiles, the worried look disappearing as his eyes crinkle at the corners, and we are at the loaded dining table. The two lovebirds, oblivious to the discussion that preceded them, walk in and sit across from each other. I sit at Muhmis’ side, and David sits across from her. The Servus bustle about, making sure we have full plates and full glasses, and the meal disappears amidst conversation, jokes and the clatter of china.

**  
“What an interesting evening, my dear,” Gwen murmurs from the bed, where she’s stretched, leopard-like, on the silk sheets. She’s wearing nothing but a grin, and I smile back as I undress.

“Yes, indeedy.” I fold my clothes and place them neatly at the end of the massive bedframe, and climb on board. “I think Emily and Alois are enjoying the evening, too. I’m glad David didn’t throw a hissy fit over them being together. By the end of dinner, it was pretty damn obvious.”

“Yes, Alois is quite direct, isn’t he?” Gwen unbinds her hair, hands moving in practiced rhythm.

I motion for her to roll over and begin massaging her back. It’s like running my hands over rubber-encased steel; her skin’s so hot to the touch, what with the Draka metabolism, I hardly have to heat the oil in my hands before putting it on her. One of the conveniences, I guess, I think to myself. Then I chuckle out loud. “He’s just like his mother.”

“Yes?” Gwen’s got her head on her crossed arms, and her voice is a little muffled. “In being direct?”

“He uses roses, too.” I slide my hands down her back, feeling the long-strap muscles and the slightly different joints relax under my touch. “Just like you did.”

“Still do, for your birth day.” Gwen says, and rolls over. She catches my hands and brings them up to her chest; my fingers stroke her breasts and I watch her eyes, watching her obvious arousal. I slide so that I’m kneeling between her legs, and begin to lower myself…inch by inch…

“Yes, and you’re pretty direct other ways, too…” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her.

“Of course. I’m a Draka…” Muhmis returns the kiss, and starts a longer one. Then she pauses. “What was Emily doing looking me over? And what were you two doing just before we came up? You were enjoying yourself—your scent was quite clear. She was somewhat frightened but aroused, as well. What had you two wenches been up to?”

“I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she was straight, and never ever interested in women. But she surprised the heck out of me, and I don’t know if she did it out of interest, out of curiosity, or out of pure Samothracian cussedness. She sure can kiss, Gwen…lordy…” I prop myself up on my arms, above my Muhmis, looking down. My body’s coming alive with hunger; hunger for Gwen’s touch, for her taking me. Shivers of delight cascade down my back as her hands begin to stroke, and explore.

“Better than this?” A moment later: “Or this?”

“Nooo…mmmhh…no one’s better than you…mmmhh…” The night unfolds as our passion does; soon the silk sheets are tousled and disarrayed in our heated lovemaking. Thank god the bed’s built Draka-strong.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14

**  
We’re back in Kentucky, or as it’s known now, the Bluegrass Province. I’ve been hard at work all day, catching up on administrative items and working on finalizing the weapons transfer program. Schalk still hasn’t shown any sign that he knows anything odd is going on at the spaceports, but this can’t last forever. I just hope he notices, and not some over-excited, youthful Draka trying to make a name for him or herself. That could be sticky. But so far…

Finally, I have a few moments to myself; I go freshen up, brush my grey-gold hair back neatly, and sneak into the oak-paneled library for a break. It’s quiet; it smells like leather, cedar wood smoke, and old books. I curl up in Gwen’s favorite high-backed chair with a flat panel; a few touches and it unfolds into a picture album of sorts.

Gwen stares up at me, bright green eyes wide with child’s glee, as she’s hoisted into the air by a pet ghouloon. She must be about five, I think; already, she’s a beauty. The house in the background looks like the Household in Tuscany, but I can’t remember its name. I touch the picture, and a subtitle comes up, swimming out of the background like sun on a summer lake. Claestum. May, 1982. Gwen’s first ghouloon. I smile, looking deeper into the many-resolution photo mosaic. Yolande’s there, in the background, looking cool and not a bit nervous as the four hundred pound genengineered critter tosses her daughter into the air. Well, the Draka do stand by their products.

I guess I’m one of their products now, I suddenly realize. With all these biomods…I shrug the thought away, filing it for deeper perusal when I’m not so tired, and turn the page. Yolande and Gwen again, but Gwen’s a fully grown woman now, stiff and proud in her black spacer’s uniform. Silver wings glitter on her chest; the background is lunar, so they must have been visiting while Yolande was in charge up there, before the war. There’s a mischievous glint in Gwen’s eye, though, one I’ve seen many times before. I wonder what she was thinking. Touching the picture produces another subtitle: Ma and Me, just after graduation from nav school. Gwen’s handwriting, the same then as it is now, over 500 years later.

The next is one of Gwen, on Earth, in darkly-patterned camouflage; she’s deeply tanned, and there’s a long red scar down one arm. That arm’s draped around Alois, her husband; they’re surrounded by other Draka in various uniforms or casual clothes. I’d guess this is post-War; a visit home maybe. The sky behind the smiling faces is dull grey, and the trees look dead. But they’re in shirt sleeves, so it must be warm enough…early spring? The title disagrees: late summer, Year 5, F.S. Visiting Chateau Retour on belated honeymoon. Ah, Alois… Gwen’s writing trails off. She rarely talks about him, and I get the sense that even though Draka, New Race ones, anyway, can literally put things out of their heads and not worry about them…she hasn’t with his memories. With the loss.

“I always liked that picture, except for the scar showing.”

“Egad, woman!” I pantomime grabbing my chest. “You scared the flivver out of me!” Gwen’s leaning over the edge of the chair, smiling down at me.

“Well, since I’ve never heard of a human having a…flivver… I guess it’s for the best that I frighten it out of you!” She comes around, and cups my chin with her hand, lifting my mouth to hers for a long kiss. “Enjoying the photo book?”

“I guess we’d call it a photo album…yes. You’ve put this together recently, haven’t you?” I stand up, and hold it out to her.

Gwen takes the flat panel, sits down, and then pats her thigh, indicating for me to perch. I climb onto her lap, feeling slightly ridiculous, as I always do, until I’m securely snuggled against her. She smells sweet, fresh…outdoorsy. A little horsey, if I really think about it. Gwen smiles, brushes some hair strands from her face, and flips the pages of the album.

“Yes, I’ve been out riding…came looking for you when Yannan said you might be lurking in here, avoiding more paperwork. Of course, I too avoid paperwork whenever possible, so I thought I’d join you.” She chuckles. “Aha, here’s Johanna, my daughter, with my…grandmother, I guess, for ease of reckoning… Johanna Ingolfsson. She was a Von Shrakenberg. This is at Claestum, which was John’s Landholding. John is… was… Yolande’s older brother. Yolande developed her own, in what used to be California. I own it now…you’ve been there, on PrimeLine. Remember? The horses?”

“Oh, yes, and the surfing. I remember. Peter really loved it out there. So did Tom. They were starting to settle down together around then.” I look down at the picture, seeing a smiling older woman holding the hand of a pert little miss with a black beret on. “What’s with the beret?”

“Oh, that was a souvenir of my killsweep days…she loved that damn thing. Wore it until it was a disgrace; I snuck in one night, into her bedroom, and replaced it with a new one. She pouted for days, but still wore it. She finally got one of her own, a midnight blue one, from graduating from Lunar Mining School. She was very, very bright. You’d have liked her.”

“She’s…”

Gwen nods. “Yes, she died in an accident while terraforming Venus. That planet claimed a lot of Draka, and even now it’s not very tame. I often wonder if it’s worth it to continue the settlements there, but we do love a challenge. Any challenge.” She turns the page, and my eyes widen at a full frontal nude shot of Alois, who’s…well, happy.

“You Draka aren’t shy, either. Good lord. He was…impressive.” I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. “What does Schalk think of this ole photo?”

“He likes it. He would have liked Alois very, very much. And yes, he was a stallion. One of the reasons I liked him so much at first. But he was…” Gwen looks out the library window for a long moment. “He was my soul mate. He would understand what I was doing without me having to explain. Or he’d be able to finish my sentences for me. A kindred spirit. Wonderful lover, too.”

“You miss him still.” I gaze into her leaf-green eyes.

“Yes.” Her voice is a little husky. She clears her throat and looks to the next page, another family gathering. “Hmm...this is year 10, F.S.; there’s Eric…there’s Yolande. Notice they’re on opposite sides of the room. There was still a tremendous amount of tension there. Was for years… there’s Johanna. She and her husband were pilots during the war; he died in 1998. Missed the Final War. Here’s Tanya and Edward… they’re Von Shrakenbergs, of course. And there’s John, with Mandy, his wife. She was sweet. I always enjoyed visiting them.” She smiles. “They’d always hide presents around the house, and send you off to find them. It gave the grownups time to visit, kept the kids busy, and hopefully out of trouble.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Maybe we should do that, next big get-together.” 

“Yes, indeed.” The next is a smaller photo, older looking than the others have been. A dark-haired woman is cradling a small Gwen in her lap, looking down at the child with a slight smile on her tanned face. Palm trees are shading the background; the foreground’s brilliant azure water almost glistens.

“Who’s that? That’s you, isn’t it, the little ‘un?”

“Correct. That’s Marya, Tantie-ma Marya. We’re on the beach…ah, where was that? It’s been so long. Anyway, we were on vacation, with Ma, who had a miraculous break to spend with me. They were very, very rare, and I adored every moment. I was about four then, or almost four.” She traces the outline of the woman’s face with a fingertip, delicately.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

“Of course, darlin’…she was my Tantie-ma. Like you’ve been to Ariadne and Alois. You love them, right?” She smiles. “I loved her. Dearly.”

“But…” I wonder if I should even ask.

“Go ahead, don’t get all tense on me. What?”

I lay my head down, against Muhmis’ shoulder. “But…well, she tried to betray the Stone Dogs virus thing, when she found out about it…from your Ma. Your Ma found out she was a spy. And from what I’ve read, in Yolande’s memoirs, the private ones, here—not the public version—you were one of the conduits. You brought her disks, and they were…doctored.”

“I didn’t know it at the time; no one did. Security slipped up. Yes, she was a spy. She was a very good one, and a very strong woman. My mother almost broke her mind with the controller cuff. You’ve read about that, too, haven’t you?”

I shudder. “Yes, and how your uncle John made her stop. Yolande was…well, a little unbalanced.”

“By the seven hells, child, she was madder than the proverbial hatter. Insane. Rather dangerous. But she managed to control it, and channel it. That’s why she made such a good commander, before and during the Final War. ‘The Hero of the Tunnels’. That’s my Yolande.” Gwen sighs. “At least they’ve corrected for that in the revived Yolande.”

“But didn’t it bother you, about Marya?”

“Yes, and no. I had to admire her for her almost Draka-like coolness. But then, perhaps genetics played a part, since she was indeed half Draka. But I felt…anger. Sorrow. Loss. The days after the Final War were so busy, though, darlin’, that I really didn’t have the luxury of worrying about it. I did think later about what would have happened to me if Security had caught the training tapes, with me, and that would not have been…nice. Or pretty. But she did what she had to do; I admire her for that. She left on the New America, and I don’t really think a lot about her now.”

“Do you think about Yolande, and her madness?”

“Sometimes. I think, as a New Race child, I was very sensitive to human moods; I could read hers like a book. That came in handy sometimes. But school kept me busy, and work—her career—kept her running, so we never really had time to sit down and talk about it. I was with her when she died, but I think her mind perhaps was hoping I was really Myfwany. After all, I was cloned from Myfwany. Here’s a picture of her, by the way…”

I look down into a face that’s almost like Gwen’s. Not quite. It’s fuller, around the jaw; her eyes are harder. There’s the hair, of course, and the leaf-green eyes, but the mouth is smaller, lips thinner. The subtle bone structure changes are hard to pick out, but they add up to a different person in Gwen. “She looks… tough.”

“She was. I think in many ways, she was much tougher, perhaps even more…well, crude, or earthy, than Yolande. I would have liked to have met her. Yolande was terribly in love with her, in both the good sense and the bad. She whispered ‘Myfwany’ as she died.” Gwen taps the picture. A serial number, rank, and other information flows across it. “This is her official flight permit picture, taken not long before India. So, do I look like my gene mother?”

“Yes, and no. I was just thinking that all the little changes in bone structure and musculature add up to a different person. You’re…more…I don’t know. Aristocratic? I’m not sure that’s the word. You’re different from her.”

“Five hundred years, four full makeovers…I am pretty different, aren’t I? Aristocratic? I like that. Unless you mean I look…well, too cold.” She grins, and strokes a finger though my hair.

“You can freeze the balls off a brass monkey, Gwen. Believe me. I’ve seen you look… absolutely terrifying. You can also look silly, sexy, or thoughtful. You’re a very…adaptable person that way. But you do have a look that’s…one I would rather not see. I’ve only seen it maybe two or three times in the over twenty years I’ve…” I pause, and then continue, “been yours.”

“What were you going to say?” She cocks her head to one side, looking at me sidelong, one eyebrow raised.

“I was just going to say, ‘since I’ve known you’, but I thought…I should let you know I still remember my…place.” I smile, a little. “In case, you know, you think I’m getting uppity about the weapons transfer, and stuff like that.”

“I’m not worried about that. You and I have had our little talks about how you’re mine, and will be forever. That won’t change, no matter what else does,” Gwen says, softly. “I don’t worry much about you getting uppity. I can still spank the… flivver… out of you.”

“Oh, yes. You can. Let’s hope you never have to. Again. May I ask you another question?”

“Yes…”

“Does Yolande hate me?”

Gwen’s eyes widen a bit in surprise. “Hate you? No, where’d you get that idea?”

I shrug. “I just…worry about her. What she thinks of me. I know she’s tried several times to talk you out of being in love with me. You know, serfs and masters shouldn’t, bladda bladda, yadda yadda… but I’m more than a little nervous around her.”

“Since she’s Landholding on Mars, helping to direct the terraforming, you shouldn’t worry too much. No, she doesn’t hate you; she doesn’t particularly like you, either. I’m not sure why; I know she thinks you take, well, liberties with me. But I run my Household my way, and she can run hers her own way. We’re different people that way, believe me. But she has helped me out, though…taking Alice, for example.”

“I thought you arranged that,” I say, quietly.

“Yes, I couldn’t have both of you here, and I was…annoyed with Alice. Yolande needed a head administrator, and Alice had developed into quite an able assistant. So I gifted her to Yolande, and solved two problems at once. I wanted you to have more peace of mind, too. Alice remaining here wouldn’t have worked out.”

“No.” I look out the window, my mind a million miles away for a long moment.

Gwen waits a little, and then closes the photo album. She strokes my cheek. “Let’s get back to the paperwork; then you can give me another massage tonight. The enhanced strength you’ve got now makes your massages very…enjoyable. Schalk will be joining us, too, when he gets in from Moonbase Alpha later tonight. He’ll like a massage, too…among other things.” Gwen picks me up and stands me on my feet, putting the book on the side table. It slides shut with a small click.

“Thanks for sharing the pictures…and the memories.” I take her hand in both of mine and bring it to my lips.

“Thank you, darlin’…” Gwen smiles happily down at me, and gives me a peck on the lips. A few moments later, as the peck turned into more than a peck, we separate and I rearrange my clothes.

“Can’t come out of the library all mussed up, now…I have work to do!” I scamper away from Gwen, staying just out of her reach, until we pop out the double oak doors into the hallway. A Servus wench, dry-mopping the hardwood floor, is almost run over, but Gwen catches her as she tumbles in our wake. Smacking the wench lightly on the fanny, Gwen moves with cat-like swiftness and grace to capture me as I walk into the office room. A resounding smack on the rear sends me squeaking up into the air, and everyone bursts into laughter.

I hold my fanny, knowing all dignity was lost in the jump and squeak, and turn to look at Gwen. She’s laughing along with all my office help, and I walk up to her. “You…you…”

“Ah, you deserved that! You certainly did!” Gwen pulls me to her, hugging me hard and long. Finally kissing me on the top of my head, and turning me around to face my staff, she says, “A pillow for the wench, so she can get some work done…”

Her laughter goes down the hall with her, and I hear another squeak as the cleaning wench encounters Gwen’s good mood again. Yannan solicitously places a large pillow on my chair, and waves me to it; I submit with good grace, since it actually feels pretty good. I bow to everyone, amidst chuckles and various suggestions for first aid, and the office soon settles down to our usual working day at Gwendolyn Hall. 

My mind comes back to the issue of Yolande…moreso than Alexis, she may be key to whatever changes Gwen implements, and I need to learn what makes Yolande tick. Somehow. Even if she doesn’t like me. Even if I’m scared of her. Yolande, Tamarindus, Schalk, Gunnar…they’re key players for Gwen and for my plans. Only time will tell…

**  
I lean back against the warm marble, letting the water splash over my head for a moment or two. The water around me moves, in small waves, as Gwen and Schalk enter the bath; I stick my head out of the cascading shower, and blink my eyes clear. I hope they don’t want…well. What we’ve been doing for the past four hours. I smile at them, a little tiredly. “Muhmis…Uhmas…”

“Hello, darlin’…” Gwen slides over to sit next to me, and Schalk moves to sit opposite us, the water beading on his smooth, muscular chest. He’s grown a small goatee recently, and is as proud of it as any teenage boy. He strokes it self-consciously, and catches me grinning at him.

“What? You don’t like it?” Schalk chuckles. “I think it lends a certain aura of… derring-do, adventure…”

“Scratchiness.” I reach over and gently squeeze his thigh, sticking up out of the water. “But once it gets a little longer, maybe, it won’t be as itchy-feeling.”

“I didn’t mind it,” Gwen says. “It’s different, anyway.” She ducks her head under the water splashing down, rinsing her hair. Flipping it back, she leans her head against my shoulder, sighing. “Tonight was… lovely.”

“Mmmh…” Schalk agrees, over a mouthful of wine. “This wench gets better and better… not to mention a certain lovely lady…who, ah…what’s the phrase Yannan taught me…blows me away…every time we make love.” He smiles almost shyly at Gwen, who blows him a kiss.

“You’re sweet.”

“Some of my subordinates would laugh themselves into a hernia if they heard this…” he laughs, rolling his deep blue eyes to the ceiling.

I’ve been quiet for a few moments, and Gwen tickles me under my ribs. “Cat got your tongue, sweet, or is it just too tired?”

“Flarba blibber snid wer.” I make a face. “It’s sprained…I’m incapacitated…”

“Here, have some wine, and maybe you’ll recover…” Schalk laughs, and I accept the goblet he offers as Gwen laughs heartily against me.

“Don’t make me spill it on you, dear heart,” I manage, hugging Gwen to me. “Or is that what you want?”

“No…no, I don’t think so…it makes my hair get sticky…” Gwen takes the wine glass from my hand, takes a sip, and returns it to me. “This is a very good vintage. Lovely bouquet, Schalk. Where’d you get this?”

“From Claudius, on Primeline. He’s developed a huge winery near Paris…over five hundred serfs. This is his first year’s produce; not bad, is it?”

“No…not bad at all. What do you think, Erin?”

I think the wine’s a bit tart and dry, but just nod. Gwen prods my ribs again with an index finger. 

“Tell me what you think, as opposed to bobbing your head, silly girl.”

“Um…it’s okay. I’m no wine critic, though. I like muscadine wine the best, still. Or raspberry wine. I guess I like the sweeter versions.”

“This is a little dry…but then, that’s not all bad. We’ll have to expand your horizons, child.” Schalk smiles. “I have tried some of that…white lightening…moonshine stuff, and I’m amazed that humans can drink it and live.”

“Wayull…heck. It’s jest a little powerful…” I joke. “Like a mule kickin’ ya in the head…”

“Not the kind of drink I’d like, then,” Gwen says. “A good smooth brandy, now…”

Schalk’s eyes suddenly go blank; someone’s talking with him via transducer. He nods once and then closes his eyes for a long moment.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Gwen sits up, and touches his leg.

The Draka across from me opens his eyes and looks at me. My stomach suddenly turns to ice; his eyes are like blue lasers, cutting into me. “It’s a security matter, Gwen. A very interesting one.”

“Schalk, I think I—”

He cuts her off, something I’ve never heard him (or anyone else, besides Yolande and Alexis) do. Gwen’s not the kind of person you usually cut off in mid-sentence. “Damn you, Erin…what in Valhalla were you trying to do? Not even Gwen can get you out of this one, wench.”

In one smooth, shockingly fast movement, he stands, his hand catching me under the chin, pulling me up out of the bath by my throat. I can’t squeak, can hardly breathe…I wrap my hands around his bulging forearm, and dangle helplessly above the water. His voice is glacial. “Smuggling weapons to the Samothracians? I’ll stake you myself…we trusted you, damn it!”

“Stop! Now! Put her down, and listen to me. She was operating under my supervision.” Gwen is standing, water dripping off her tall frame, her hair bristling. Schalk freezes for a moment, in the impossibly still stillness a Draka can maintain for hours on end. Her hand reaches out and grasps his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscles there.

“What? What are you telling me, Gwen?” He turns his head and stares directly into the face of his wife, his Planetary Archon. “You’re arming Samothracians? You’re allowing human serfs to…have access to this type of technology? Against the rules of the Archonal Council?”

“Yes. Let her go, she’s starting to strangle. Now.”

His hand loosens, and I fall, my chest heaving for air, into the bath. I kneel at their feet, trying to breathe, trying to stop choking…listening to the calm voice of Gwen explaining the idea to her husband. Schalk’s having trouble accepting it, at least I think so; his silence is very noticeable. I shiver, uncontrollably and despite the warmth of the bath water, goose bumps rise.

“You were kept out of the loop as long as I could manage it, as long as Erin and her team could manage it…who discovered it?” Gwen says, finally, after explaining the plan to Schalk. “Who alerted you?”

“One of my supervisors on Moonbase Alpha noticed some discrepancies in log books, and looked deeper. She found a whole network of human serfs, who apparently do this sort of thing quite often. A black market of sorts. We have over thirty in custody right now, and the first one we caught immediately provided Erin’s name, as well as some…communications…with her and her staff.” He glares down at me.

“Schalk…” Gwen’s voice is softer now. He doesn’t stop looking at me, though. Gwen sighs, and then takes his head between her hands. “Listen to me. Please listen.”

“All right,” he murmurs. “All right.” His fists relax at his sides, fingers hanging down… 

**

“I still can’t believe you managed to keep this from me for so long a time…maybe that’s a sign I need to increase Security’s presence here. I’ve ordered the release of the humans in custody, but they’re being kept in secure isolation for a bit. I don’t know, maybe we’re getting lazy…” Schalk says, as he paces back and forth in Gwen’s office. I merely massage the bruises on my throat and stay quiet. If I could, I wouldn’t be here at all…

“There’s our security, Schalk, and PrimeLine’s. They don’t need to know this. You didn’t, either, until it was ready to go.” Gwen turns in her chair, fingers steepled. Behind her, two ovals grow, silver colored and pulsing with the Draka Net logo. Suddenly, one clears, and a rather sleepy-looking Tamarindus peers out at us.

“Gwen?”

Muhmis looks at the screen, and smiles. “Tamarindus, sorry to wake you. And whomever else you had in that big bed of yours. Chase them out, for a moment or two, won’t you? This is…important.”

Tamar grimaces slightly, and then turns her back to us; soft voices and a sudden flurry of movement, and then she’s back, stretching her arms above her head. She’s completely unselfconscious about being nude; even with my throat throbbing from Schalk’s grip, I notice her beauty. Not as muscular as Gwen, per se, but more…Elfin, I think. More slender. But that may be due to her body’s adaptation to Mars.

“I’m alone now…” the Draka sighs. “What’s up?”

The other screen clears, revealing Yolande, sitting in a large rattan chair. She’s wearing walking blacks, a casual set, and looks relatively awake. Her side of the planet Mars is already entering morning, though, and Tamarindus’ is in night phase. “Gwen?”

“I have called you to have a conference with me. This is a highly secure channel. Please make sure your surroundings are clear before we go on. Schalk is here with me, and I’ll have Gunnar on line here in a moment or two. Erin’s also here.” Gwen gestures towards me, and I bow deeply.

Gunnar’s hologram flashes into existence seconds later. “Archon?”

“Good. Now we’re all assembled, more or less. Schalk received quite a little surprise earlier tonight, and I think now is a good time to clear the air. Here are the files, for your information needs. I purposefully kept all of you in the dark for as long as I could, to maintain secrecy. I’ve negotiated an agreement with Commander David Packard, of the Samothracians, to arm several Samo ships with Draka weapons, the best we’ve got.” Gwen pauses for a moment, looking from face to face slowly.

None of them have gasped or shrieked; that iron Draka control has set in, though. I see questions bubbling behind Tamar’s expressive eyes, and note that Yolande looks even cooler than she usually does. Schalk is very expressionless, and Gunnar is trying mightily to copy him. I notice Yolande staring at me, and drop my eyes to the floor.

Gwen continues, in a smooth, calm, commanding voice:

“Erin’s role in this was to supply the Samothracian ships with Draka weapons, using a network of contacts she has developed between the habitable planets and satellites here. This was done without getting approval of the Archonal Council, on my word alone. Let’s make that clear from the start. The Archonal Council feels, as does the high command of the Samothracians, that we should wait and prepare a defensive posture concerning the next appearance of the Bugs. Packard and I disagreed with that stance, and I know from questioning each of you individually, at various times, that you do, too.”

Gunnar nods; he’s the only one who makes any movement at all. I’m reminded quite strongly of a herd of lions, watching the leader, deciding if they want to fight over the remains of prey. It makes me shiver, and I try to hide it as much as possible. My stomach feels like a bucket of ice is still there—that feeling hasn’t left me since Schalk reacted to the news from his Lunar supervisor.

“But you’re willing to risk the disapproval of the Archonate?” Yolande crosses her legs and sits back, watching Gwen. Her fingers steeple, too, just the same gesture her previous incarnation’s daughter uses, I think. Odd, how you notice little things like that. Gwen learned it from the earlier Yolande…

“Yes, if it means the survival of the Race. And it does. The ships have been armed successfully. The training program has begun. We’ll have Draka crews on board some of the Samo ships. We’ve determined, with help again from Erin, how to track down the Bugs and destroy them in their nest. This is going to happen; I wanted to inform all of you now what the next few months will hold. I also wanted to survey you, to see what your opinions are. If I must, I’ll go this alone. I would really rather have your support and guidance.” Gwen stands up, her formal black uniform glittering slightly in the light of the desk lamp. “Fight with me, not against me. We few can win the battle; we few can deliver the Race from certain doom. Brothers, sisters…tell me what you think.”

Long moments of silence follow. The longer the silence, the more my nerves fray. The more my nerves fray, the more frustrated I get. Can’t they see what they’re risking? Can’t they see the benefits? If worse came to worse, a few more ships will be lost, crews remembered in stoic monuments…families will deal with the losses, and go on. Then the Bugs will come, and destroy us. If the best happens, we’ll prevent that scenario from ever occurring. My fists clench along with my teeth…

“Overlords, please! Listen to Muhmis the Archon. This is our only chance. This will work. It’s Pearl Harbor in reverse. I know it can work. But we need your support, your experience. Please, I know I’m just a serf, but I can see things just as clearly as you can. So I know you can see both sides to this. We’ve considered all this…analyzed it. This can work, but only if we now work together. The reason none of you were in on it from the beginning was to minimize the risk of the Archonal Council finding out. It’s common knowledge that some on your respective staffs send reports to the Council. If you had known, beforehand, it could have led to disaster.” I stop, surprised at myself. The Draka—all of them, Gwen included—are staring at me, predators eyeing their prey with surprise. The springbok speaks, I think; the lions aren’t used to that.

“How much about our staffs do you know, wench?” Tamarindus asks quietly.

“I know, honored Legate, that at least two people on your staff, unknown to you, work for the PrimeLine Security Directorate. How I know this…please don’t ask.” I look directly at her, pleading with my eyes. “But I know.”

“Seems to me that using a human serf to arm Samothracian ships with our weapons is… dangerous.” Gunnar speaks up. “Might give them the wrong ideas.”

“They already have had those ideas, and I have crushed them. The serfs are loyal. Believe me.” Gwen turns to him, hands on hips.

“But the general malaise that’s spreading…the disturbances…” He looks back, almost in a challenging way. “Add that to the knowledge of our staffs, and the Archonal politics, and now weapons transfers…”

“The disturbances I have been aware of and monitoring. Schalk has been working on that, too, along with my human staff. We’re dealing with it by doubling the emigration quota to Samothrace.”

“Giving them more power…” Yolande begins.

Gwen cuts her short with a sudden downward slash of her hand. “Giving them our troublemakers and other serfs we don’t really want. Giving them economic problems that they’ll have to deal with in their own way. That keeps the Samos busy, and keeps the serfs here quiescent. Docile. No one wants to give up their chance at emigrating; a Security violation seals their fate here on Earth/2. I am managing the humans, brothers and sisters of the Race. What I’m having difficulty now managing are…you.”

“Are all the serfs in this little weapons development ring trustworthy, Gwen?” Schalk speaks up for the first time.

She turns to him, glancing first at me. “They are, or I’ll make them into mincemeat. Literally. They know that. This wench here—this human—knows that. I’ve had no problems with them.”

“Just because you trust her, Gwen…”

“Yolande, I trust her with my life. That’s why she’s one of five humans here who had the Mark One biomods implanted. Further than that, I trust her because I have broken her to my will. Completely.” Gwen turns to me. “Beyond any personal feelings that you know I share with her. This is far beyond that. This is Duty.”

I keep my eyes on the floor as much as possible. “Yes, Muhmis the Archon.”

“Yolande…” Gwen sighs. “Try to understand that as New Race, we can fully separate our personal lives—our personal feelings—from the professional. This wench knows that she’d die if it served the Race. In fact, she almost has, several times. We’re all aware of that. We have to develop the serfs, not just keep them in our beds for fun. This is one way to do so. But that’s beyond the point. What I need to know is this: Do you support me?”

Tamarindus nods. “Yes. Yes, Archon Ingolfsson, I support your plan. I will do whatever I can to help. All right?”

“Thank you.”

Gunnar’s next. “I may not agree with all your methods, but the ends may justify them. I support you, Archon.”

She turns to him, a slight smile on her face now. “Thank you.”

Yolande sighs. “I support your plan to strike the Bugs first. I will lend whatever tactical or strategic help you need. But don’t ask me to support your liberal ideas about those damned humans of yours.” She glances at me, raking me with her eyes. “I don’t agree with how you did this, but I do agree it needs to be done.”

“Thank you, Yolande.” Muhmis turns, finally, to Schalk. He’s stock-still, looking down at his hands, knotting and unknotting in front of him.

“Schalk DeLange?” Her voice is cool, calm, professional. You’d never know this was the same person who was screaming “Schalk, my love!” at the top of her voice a few hours ago, as they coupled before me in bed, I think.

“Archon…” His shoulders tighten and then relax; he lets his breath out loudly. “Archon Ingolfsson, I am loyal to you. Forever. Professionally as well as personally. But please don’t leave me out of the loop again on Security matters. It…bothers me. As you and your serf know.”

“Do you support me, Schalk?”

He looks her straight in the eyes. “Yes. I support you. Till death takes me, I support you.”

I see her shoulders drop a little in relief, but her face stays the same aristocratic mask it’s been since the meeting began. “Thank you.”

She turns to the others. “Thank you again, brothers and sisters of the Race. I won’t let you down. We will enjoy the feast of victory together, soon. I promise that, on my life, and on my honor. Service to the State!”

“Glory to the Race!” The chorus sounds more heartfelt than the usual way it’s said, and I glance up. Gwen’s eyes are wide, looking into a future free of the Bugs, and multiverses open for Draka expansion and exploration. The others, to a one, are looking at her with something akin to wonder in their faces. The appeal to glory, to honor, and to the safety of the Race has won, I think. She’s won. If this comes off, she’ll be more powerful than the Archon or the Archonal Council on Primeline, and following her is a sure way to become powerful entities themselves. If I can figure that out, so can they, surely…

The goodbyes are more personal; plans are made for meetings, and training, and planning…I kneel by her desk, my stomach still nervous. Hands on my lap, eyes on the floor…heart dancing both for the success Gwen’s had personally here tonight and for the success of my network, my workers. It worked, it worked…it will keep us going. It’s hard not to subvocalize…

Finally, the holograms flicker off, and we’re left alone, the three of us. Gwen sighs and sits down at her desk again, her arms behind her head as she leans back in her leather chair. Schalk smiles at her; I watch from the corners of my eye, and wait for them to tell me it’s all right to get up.

“One last thing, Schalk. I want to apologize to you, in Erin’s presence, about not letting you in on the plan from the start. Needs must; do you understand? Really, my darling?”

“Yes…” He walks to her, bending over to her and kissing her soundly. “Yes, my love. I understand now. I didn’t earlier…I acted rather hastily. And I need to apologize for that, too. I slightly damaged one of your favorite serfs.”

I look up, to see him approaching. Even though I know it’s Schalk, who’s held me, been gentle with me, even played Poker with me on occasion, I still shrink back a little at his touch right now. He notices, too. “Erin, please…I am apologizing. We’re a strong Race, and I acted in anger. And, to be honest, embarrassment. I was embarrassed that humans could possibly do as well as your team has done, going around my security people.” He lifts me up, cradling me in his arms.

“Please, Uhmas…” I look into his eyes, and glance away. I can’t forget the feeling of choking, of beginning to grey out, knowing that I might die. Knowing that he’d personally slam me onto a four foot wooden stake if he thought I was a spy or someone not loyal to Gwen…

Gwen stands up and comes over to us, her hands stroking my hair. “Erin, try to understand. We are a prideful lot, we Draka…it was a surprise, an unpleasant one, and he was reacting to safeguard this Archonate. Try to understand. It’s all over now; he’s apologizing to you, and to me. Accept it, please.”

Her words calm me, and I look from her to him…and sigh, deeply. My throat still hurts a little; if it hadn’t been for the molecular armor I have under my skin, his grip might have simply crushed my throat like a paper cup. I put an arm around his shoulders, and use my free hand to trace his blond goatee and mustache. “I accept, Uhmas. I’m sorry it was such a shock. Thank you for having the grace to apologize, too; it’s not…everyday…a Draka does that. I know that, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How about coming back to bed with us—we have a few hours before dawn… no, no, Erin, I mean to sleep…don’t go pale like that; I thought you were going to faint. Come to bed, let us hold you, as our saafn. As our sweet wench. I’d like that, and I think your Muhmis would, too. It’s due to your hard work that the plan’s working, anyway, and you deserve some measure of… relaxation. Yes?”

Gwen nods. “Come to sleep with us, my pretty pony…” She puts an arm around his waist, and propels the three of us toward the door of her office. “Maybe it’s time we thought about seeding you again; Shawonda’s ready to pup soon, and he’ll need a playmate…”

“I thought you said sleep…” I note, tiredness edging my voice a little raggedly. “You know, sleep?”

“Yes, I know,” she grins. “And yes, you’ll sleep now. Perhaps before I leave on this little adventure…we’ll seed you, Schalk and I will. As we did before. You’re a wonderful Tantie-ma.” She leans over and kisses me, as Schalk carries me down the hall, easily holding me like a kitten in his arms. “We love you.”

“I love you, too…” I whisper, and let my eyes shut themselves. I think I was asleep before we reached Gwen’s bedchambers.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15

**  
“And so, Andrew and Amanda, that’s how Archon Gwendolyn Ingolfsson saved us from the Bugs. Now it’s time for bed…” I stand up, and gesture them towards their beds.

“But Ma…”

“But Tantie-Ma…”

The chorus of sleepy two year olds…I smile, and wave even more rapidly. “No, no more stories. I told you the Bugs Are Squashed one, and that’s all tonight. Now it’s time for bed…we’ll have lots of fun things to do tomorrow, promise. But it’s…no, Andrew, don’t pout, it’s unbecoming…”

“What’s that mean?” His bright blue eyes light up with curiosity. Oh, no, I think, there’s nothing worse…well, few things worse, than a curious, sleepy Draka two-year-old.

“Use your transducer, once you’re in bed. Now march!” I attempt to put some hint of Command voice into what I’m saying, and somehow, it works tonight. Usually, they dissolve in giggles when I try that. Have to practice it…go out into the back forty and Command squirrels or something, part of my mind says. The two sleepyheads clamber into their beds, and then beg to be properly tucked in.

“Goodnight, my sweet, goodnight, my love,” I whisper, making sure blankets are up around chins and pillows are where they should be. “Goodnight, sleep tight, until tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you,” two sleepy children recite, and I order the room lights to dim to a soft yellow glow. Good enough for Amanda, with her human eyes, to see by, if she needs to get up at night; soft enough to let them sleep unbothered.

I close the door softly behind me as Gwen comes down the corridor. “Ah, I’m too late. I was looking forward to tucking them in…damn meetings. I hate them, really. Waste of time.” She smiles and takes my hand. “But perhaps I can tuck you in, instead…”

“But of course…” I grin back. “I’d enjoy that.” I squeeze her hand gently. “How about a snack, first?”

“All right.” Gwen walks with me to the kitchen, a matter of several stairways and halls, and soon we have roast beef sandwiches, milk, chips…coffee for Gwen; I steer clear of the caffeine this late at night. Otherwise, I’d be up…well, more than I’d like to be. I’ll be up long enough with Ms. Endurance here, I think. Caffeine would just make me jumpy. I take Gwen’s plate to the recycler, and mine; we’re done, and Muhmis leads me to her bedchambers. The night unfolds into passion…

**  
The morning greets me with a blinding ray of sunlight. I blink, rub my eyes, and roll over, burying my head in the pile of pillows behind me. I’ve never been one of those impossibly cheery morning people; in fact, I’m usually one of the other kind. The “urgh. Morning. Nooo!” types. I sigh, and try to go back to sleep. Something warns me, though…some augmented sense, perhaps, or some human intuition…

I reach out and touch Gwen’s side of the bed. It’s still warm. That means…she hasn’t been away long, and that it’s early, as in “oh, mah gawd early”. She’s never one to sleep in. She may stay in bed, but it’s not to sleep. I stretch, slowly, and start to sit up—

Three screaming devils leap from their crouches at the side of the bed and pounce upon my prone form. Claws reach out to tickle, cackles erupt from throats…I wriggle underneath Gwen, Andrew and Amanda, who’s valiantly trying to hold her own with the two Draka. “Urph! Aieee! Enough! Back, creatures of the morning…back, I say!”

I manage to toss both children to the other side of the huge bed, but Gwen maintains her hold on me, tickling me unmercifully. I think: what’s good for the goose is good for the gander; I’m rewarded by a short squeak of surprise and then a deep purring chuckle. She finally relents, when I stop trying to get away, and the kids chorus “Euw, mushy stuff!” when she kisses me.

“Mushy stuff? Mushy? I’ll show you mushy…” Gwen laughs, sweeping up both children and kissing them on their foreheads. “Mushy…”

I laugh, along with the kids, and sit up. “Good morning to y’all, too.”

“You were soooo asleep, Tantie-ma. It was fun to sneak up on you!” Andrew chortles in his rapid-fire two-year-old patter. “Fun, fun, fun!” He bounces up and down on the bed to accompany his words.

“The little hunter…” Gwen smiles proudly. She tosses me my sweatshirt and some briefs, and I get dressed in bed. The kids don’t mind nudity; it’s me that minds. They’ve been raised as proper little 25th century Draka and serf, I think. But the idea of their mother kissing their…tantie-ma…still weirds them out. I grin as I catch Amanda around the waist and hoist her to my shoulders.

“The hunting pack…their eyes gleaming with hunger…are lured to the kitchen by…” I pause, waiting to see what Amanda chooses for breakfast.

“Pan-cakes!” Her hands do a pitty-pat on top of my head. “An’ staw-berries…”

“Strrrrawberries,” I correct. 

“Yeah! Staw-berries!”

Oh, well. She’ll pronounce things better as she gets older, I think. She knows what she wants, that’s for sure. Gwen picks up Andrew and we proceed to the kitchen, and breakfast. The morning unfolds with laughter…

**  
“Those are the most recent population figures, Erin. The emigration program’s working well, too, I might add. We’ve increased capacity again, and now the Samothracians are actually asking us to hold it there for a while. They’re having trouble processing everyone we send.” Jennifer taps her pen on a note-covered pad of paper. Paper and pencils almost became collector’s items there for a while, I think, but now it’s not gauche to use them. And of course Jennifer Feinberg d’Ingolfsson keeps up with the trends.

“How’s the…what’d you call it? Agitation?” I look over the holographic display of population distributions around the world. Already the human population is in decline; fewer births, more emigrants. Even the much-lowered death rate doesn’t offset it. The Draka like having serfs, I think, they just like having a controllable number of them. Too many humans makes Draka rulers worry, I say to myself in my “The Shining” Jack Nicholson voice… redrum…redrum…

“Redrum?” Gwen perches on the side of my desk, braiding her long, mahogany hair behind her. She has riding clothes on; her fresh scent, almost a musk, washes over me with a pleasant stroking sensation. I’ve become more and more adept at scenting her; I’m not sure—haven’t asked—if this is one more biomod, or something I’ve developed myself. I could ask Shawonda, I guess…

“Sorry, thinking of a movie…it’s ‘murder’, backwards.” I glance up at her and grin. “Random thought moment.”

The Draka nods, raising an eyebrow a fractional inch or so. “These population figures look excellent, Jenny. You’ve done an outstanding job.” Gwen smiles first at me, and then a larger smile, showing even white teeth in her aristocratic, tanned face. Jennifer blushes a little, and bobs her head.

“It wasn’t hard to work up. The new computers we’ve developed are simply amazing…”

I nod. “You can say that again. Self-networking; they’re almost…aware…in some weird way. Self-replicating; massively parallel processing. The nanotech stuff never ceases to amaze me. Thanks for letting our group have one of the first new computers, Gwen. It’s saved us a lot of work and time; they’re not hard to use, either.”

“No, from what I heard, the user interface is species-specific, so whether a Citizen, a Servus, or a serf uses them, it responds to each species in the most helpful manner. Tamarindus was going on about that last night over dinner, wasn’t she?” Gwen stands up, and tucks her white silk blouse into her khaki riding pants. Her knee-high black boots gleam; someone, I think, spent a lot of time polishing that leather.

“You have heard that the Samos want us to slow down on the emigration numbers for a bit…” I sit back in my chair. “I never thought I’d hear them say, ‘Whoah, Nellie’ on that issue.”

“But we’ve basically flooded them with ferals we don’t need or want. Better their problem than mine. But yes, I’d heard, and yes, we’ll slow down a bit. No need to nettle them right now.” Muhmis strokes a long-fingered hand through my thick, dark blonde and grey hair. “Like to go riding?”

“I should really check on the other projects, Muhmis. Maybe another time?” I answer, hopefully.

She smiles. “That’s fine. You two meet me for lunch, and plan for some time afterwards for… recreation.” She walks swiftly out of the room, her footsteps silent on the hardwood floors. Jennifer blinks for a moment, and then blushes.

“Oy, vey…I have so much to do, and now…”

“You’ll get some relaxation on top of it. Don’t fret. She didn’t insist that we go riding with her, now did she?” Jenny hates riding horses more than I do, and that’s saying a lot. Being a New York City gal, she is nervous around most large animals. I don’t mind being around them, I just can’t ride too well, I think. “Now, answer me. How’s the agitation?”

“It’s better. We got the major ringleaders off to Samothrace early on. The malaise that was spreading seems to be slowing down or stopping; the positive publicity about the end of the Bugs certainly helped. Gwen the hero, and all that. I think people were probably worried about the Bugs, and just focused instead on when they’d be Chosen.” Jennifer pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers, and closes her eyes for a moment.

“Honey, when’s the last time you had a vacation?” I lean forward, putting my hand on her knee. A very shapely knee, at that, I think.

“I don’t have time for a va—”

“You do if I say you do, my wench.” I smile, taking the sting out of the words. “You’re working yourself into an early gra…” I stop, looking at her with surprise. “You aren’t, are you? Trying to wear your second lifespan out early?”

“Um…no. Not at all. Why would you say such a goofy thing? I swear, you’re nuts sometimes.” She pulls away from my hand, and starts flipping rapidly through her notes. “We need to meet with the economics task force, so that we can finalize the recommendations to Muhmis about importing nonessentials from PrimeLine…”

“First we need to figure out what to do with you. I’m serious, Jennifer.” My voice is firm. “You can’t kill yourself this way; I won’t let you.”

“Won’t let me? Won’t? So who died and put you in charge…” The dark-haired woman blurts, and then bolts from her seat next to me. “You…you…”

“What?” I stand up, too. “Go ahead, say whatever you want. We need to iron this out. I’m about this much…” I hold my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, “from forcing you on a vacation. I don’t understand what the big bother is all about.” My Southern accent grows stronger as I grow more angry.

The other staff members have prudently found things to do on the far end of the large office; several have left, mostly Servus. They get physically queasy at the idea of a fight, I know, so it’s better they leave now, before the shouting starts. And Jennifer always shouts. Sometimes I do, too.

“Don’t order me around like I’m a…”Jennifer’s eyes are full of fury. “Like a…groundskeeper.” She’s staring out the window now, looking down across the back yard, with its trees and rose bushes.

“I’ve never ordered you to weed the garden. Ordering isn’t exactly my thing. I’d rather work with people, not over them.”

“You could fool me.”

“Jennifer…come on. What the hell is going on?” My hands clench, and I fight a dreadful urge to growl. That’s been happening more and more as the biomods settle into my system.

“You come across as high and mighty sometimes, and I don’t need it. You forced the rejuve issue with me and Muhmis, and now you’re going to force me to go on some stupid damn vacation? I’m tired of being ordered around. By you,” she appends quickly, with a glance to her left and right.

“I’m Muhmis’ Prime Councilor. I have to give you orders sometimes. I’m responsible, in some ways, for your well-being. I don’t order you around all day, every day. I usually just make some recommendations and depend on your best judgment, just like with the rest of the staff. You know that. Where’s all this anger coming from? The rejuve? I thought we worked all that out.”

Jenny snorts, turning her back to me. “Whatever.”

I stride over to her and spin her around, one finger on her shoulder. My other hand flashes out and cups her chin, tilting her head back with an almost-Draka-like strength. “Don’t. Don’t go there. You don’t want that. Don’t be insubordinate to me, not here, not ever. Our friendship is one thing, Jennifer Feinberg d’Ingolfsson, but our professional relationship is another. Not in front of staffers. Understand?”

“Let go of me,” Jenny hisses between clenched teeth. “Who do you think you are, a Draka? You’re not. You’re not even human anymore, either. You’re a…a…a mutant. Now let me the hell go.”

Instead of letting go, I pull her closer, my thumb placed squarely in the center of her chin, fingers curled under to catch her jaw. I whisper, too: “Listen to me. If you don’t calm down, Gwen’s going to know, and not because I’ll tell her. Schalk monitors us, you know that. Gwen can scent us, too. You want this to go before them? Do you?”

Jenny shakes her head as much as she can in my grip. “No. No, I don’t want this to reach them.”

“You’re cutting it mighty close then. What’s the deal, Jennifer? Please, I’ve never had to pull rank on you like this. Talk with me.” I loosen my grip a little, and let one finger stroke down the side of her cheek. “Please.”

“It doesn’t matter. I apologize, Prime Councilor, for my outburst. Please accept my apologies.” She looks down, eyes glittering now with tears.

I sigh. “Ok, come on.”

“What? No—hey, I apologized, damn it. Don’t take me to Schalk or Gwen. Where—”

I have her firmly by one arm and push her along the floor, our feet loud in the silence. When we reach the open French doors, I push her through, out into the garden. “Sit down here, and talk with me, you ornery recalcitrant she-mule.”

“What? What? I apologized. Let’s just drop it and get back to work. Come on, Erin. Enough already.” She tries to stand, and I shove her, not very gently this time, back on the bench.

“Talk. Now. Or I make a call to Gwen.” I cross my arms and stand there, in front of her, legs blocking her escape.

“It doesn’t matter. She’d never let me, anyway. Just drop this. Drop it!”

“What’s that mean? ‘She’d never let me, anyway’? Let you do what?” I allow a hint of steel into my voice; not quite Command (I’ve been practicing) but close— much more steel than Jennifer’s ever heard me use.

The woman in front of me sighs, and then buries her face in her hands. Her thick curly black hair shades her face, too, covering her hands with ringlets. There’s a long silence; I can hear birds chattering, a horse neighing—Gwen?—and a subdued murmur from our open-style office. I kneel down in front of Jennifer, and take her hands in mine. “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny…”

“Please?” She sniffles loudly. “Just drop it. Call it a bad morning and let it go at that. I’m sorry.”

“What is it that ‘she’ won’t let you do? Am I correct in assuming ‘she’ is Gwen?” I pitch my voice to a more soothing tone this time. Jennifer looks up at me, tears trickling down her pretty face.

“Yes.” She sniffles again. I wish I had some tissue, but I don’t…I reach over and stroke her face, wiping a tear away with my fingers.

“Tell me, you obstinate old woman!” I chide her gently. The tears seem to be slowing, which is good.

“I want to emigrate.” Her whisper is barely audible. I stare at her in surprise, my mouth dropping open a little.

“You? You want to leave here, and go live on a frontier somewhere? Darling, the shopping there is simply terrible.” I try to joke to cover my surprise.

“I don’t care. I don’t. I want to leave. Every shipment we send through breaks my heart. They’re going to be free, and I can’t be. I want to leave, Erin. One way or another. I mean it.” She’s still whispering but I can hear the desperation in her voice. And the terror.

“Honey, honey…please, now. Calm down. Let’s think about this for a second or two…”

“Think? Think? What the hell do you think I do, every hour of every day here in this damned place? I wasn’t born a slave, and I don’t want to die as one, either. I want to be free!!” She bolts to her feet and shouts at me. Unfortunately, she’s shouting the last words at the top of her lungs as Gwen and Schalk, talking happily, come around the corner of the garden.

We’re frozen there, a mute tableau, Gwen and Schalk, hand-in-hand like young lovers, their faces going masked with shock and surprise; Jennifer looking like she’d rather sink into the ground than exist for one more second, and me, squatting next to the bench, my eyes wide and mouth open. Oh, Lordy, how do I get her out of this? What do I do? What can I do, I think. Talk about saying the wrong thing at the wrong time…

**  
Gwen’s the first to recover. “My office. Now. Both of you.” Her voice is cool, almost cold. This is one of those trigger things, I realize, that set up an almost automatic response in a Draka. Seeing a trusted saafn yelling about freedom in one’s garden is not likely to make any Draka happy. And Gwen, I realize with a swift glance as I bow to her, is not happy. Neither is Schalk.

We walk swiftly, behind the two of them, and as soon as we enter Gwen’s office, we both sink to our knees in front of her teakwood desk. She walks over to the wet bar and pours herself a tall glass of ice water; I can hear the ice cubes clinking as she walks back over to us. Schalk sits in a chair across from us, next to the desk, his fingers beating out a tiny tattoo on the leather arm of the chair. Fidgeting is extremely rare for a Draka, I think. He’s upset.

Jennifer is breathing hard, crying and trying not to at the same time. Gwen stops in front of her, and pauses. Then she dumps the whole glass of ice water on Jennifer’s unsuspecting head. The shock of it makes Jenny squeal, and duck, trying to shake the water and ice out of her hair. Gwen takes a handful of her hair and tilts her head backwards, at what looks like a painful angle. I shiver next to her, wondering if there’s something, anything I can say to diffuse the situation.

“Be quiet.” Gwen’s Command voice is the strongest I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard other Draka use the technique. Gwen outweighs them all. I swallow in a mouth gone dry. Jennifer’s sobs subside almost immediately.

“It’s times like this I ask myself: am I too lenient with my saafn?” Gwen sits on the edge of her desk and crosses her arms. “Well, Prime Councilor, anything to say?”

I clear my throat and try to keep my voice level, without a shake in it. “Muhmis, please forgive that outburst. Jennifer and I were arguing, and perhaps I pushed her too hard. It…it isn’t like it seems...”

Jennifer speaks up, cutting me off. “Yes, it is like it seems. I want to be free, Muhmis. I want to emigrate. I know you won’t let me, but that’s what I want.”

I turn to Jenny, feeling the color drain out of my face. Jennifer looks back calmly at me, her eyes level with mine. There’s water trickling down her face, still, and some ice cubes glitter on the floor around her. The red blouse she has on is water-splashed a crimson color, the color of blood. I still can’t believe she spoke without permission, and then said what she just said. “Jenny, please…”

“Has she had some sort of break-down, Gwen? You know humans better than I do,” Schalk says quietly, eyeing his wife. Her face has gone still; her eyes spear us to the floor. “You know, sometimes they go mad for a bit, and you have to get an alienist…”

“She’s not mad. Not at all. And if she thinks she can push me into snapping her silly little neck, she’s wrong. Free? You want to be free? You’re mine. My saafn. Now and forever. None of my staff will emigrate. That’s final.” Gwen’s voice is glacial.

Jennifer nods, slowly, and then says: “I forgive you.”

I turn to stare at Jennifer, my mouth open. Both the Draka look somewhat confused, and then Schalk curses and leaps for Jennifer, his hand grabbing for her mouth.

“Gods be damned…”

My friend’s body spasms, and she falls backwards, legs stiffening and kicking sharply. A sort of groan comes from Jenny—a gasp and a cry, all at once—and Schalk is digging frantically at her mouth, which is locked tight, as tight as she can hold it. I reach for her hands, feeling the muscles trembling in my grip, faster than they ever should…

Gwen pulls me back, as Schalk moves to sit astride Jennifer. An odor of almonds, bitter almonds, fills the room, and I gag. “Jenny, no!”

He looks up to us both. “Cyanide. In a tooth. She’s gone.” He sits back on his heels, looking down at the human. The dead human, I think, part of my mind going very cold and logical. Somehow, she managed to find a dentist to implant a false tooth…how? Why? Why choose death, Jennifer? We could’ve worked it out, somehow… I’m shuddering uncontrollably now, and Gwen’s arms tighten around my shoulders.

“Damn it to hell. How’d she manage that?” Schalk runs his hand through his thick blond hair. “You’re going to lose faith in me as your Security Director, Gwen. First the weapons to the Samos, under my nose and now this.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I trust you—and you know that. I am very surprised, though, that she managed to hide something like that. Unless someone else knew…” Gwen looks down into my eyes, searching.

“No…” I gag again, and swallow. “No, I didn’t know. Jesus. Oh, Jenny…my god.” But I’m not crying. Part of me is screaming mad—both at Jenny and at the situation here—and part of me is quite cold. It speaks up. “I had no idea she had the false tooth. She must have had it done since the rejuve…which she hated. No wonder, then. But why…why?”

“She wanted her freedom. I don’t know if she got to enjoy it very much, in the few seconds she had before the poison killed her. She’s dead now, so her freedom is a moot point. What a waste. Hera’s tits, what a waste. Schalk, initiate a full physical scan on all other saafn of mine. Immediately. I’m not going to play games around this.” Gwen urges me toward the other Draka, who’s standing now, still astride Jennifer’s stiff body. “Start with this one. Go from there to every single villager’s child.”

“Yes, Archon.” His hand closes on my shoulder. I nod, numbly, and walk from the room with him, to the medical clinic. The tests don’t take long—only a couple are mildly uncomfortable—and then I’m through. Schalk is talking with some of his security people, young Draka no more than sixty or seventy, and pauses when I approach. I bow, formally, and he waves me over.

“Coordinate the scans, wench. These two Citizens will assist, if you need any… persuasion. Clear?” His voice is cold, and it matches his deep blue eyes.

“Yes, Uhmas.” I bow again, knowing to stick with the protocol very closely while the Draka around me are annoyed. Inside, my heart is breaking over losing Jennifer, but I can’t let it show… I call up several of my staff members, have them scanned, and then set about organizing a scan for every human at Gwendolyn Hall and the surrounding villages. The day stretches out—long into the night—so different from how it began.

**  
Eighteen hours later, and innumerable complaints, promises, wheedlings, and subtle threats later, every single blasted human has been scanned and the results reported to Schalk. Two other staff members had false teeth with a capsule of cyanide implanted; the work was done by a local dentist, now deceased. Lucky for him, I think. Not so lucky for the staffers. They are taken away, numbed by dociline, to Schalk’s security center. I never hear what happens to them, either, nor do I want to ask.

I sit, head in hands, at the medical center main entrance desk; the day seems to weigh heavily on my shoulders. Why, Jennifer? God, you were my friend…I think. The cold, logical part of my brain shrugs and whispers: No, she wasn’t, not really. You and she had both changed over the years. She didn’t even see you as a fellow human—she saw you as a mutant. Remember? But maybe, I answer back, maybe she was just mad. She’s been known to say mean things when she’s mad before…when she was mad before, not is. 

The cold voice replies: Face it, you’re not human. Not like them. Not anymore. You have to deal with this. There are four other sorta-humans around, which is a damn small number. The true humans don’t accept you anymore; you can’t go to the Samothracians, ever; you’ll never be a Citizen, either. You’re stuck in purgatory. Enjoy it.

There’s a crunching sound, and I look down to see, with great surprise, that I’ve crushed the pencils I’d been holding. They’re matchsticks now, and I sigh as I brush them off the desktop into a handy trashcan. Maybe it’s true—maybe I’m not completely human anymore. But it doesn’t make me less human, having these biomods. I still think and feel like a human…

Oh, that’s why you growl sometimes? And the way you make love with Gwen—that’s completely human, too? I’m so sure, whispers the tiny voice in my head. You’re changing. Maybe mutant was a good word for it—thanks to Jennifer. I shake my head, trying to silence the voice, trying not to listen, but it’s no good.

“Talking with yourself again?” Gwen startles me out of my inner thoughts. She stands in front of the desk, arms akimbo, hair still in a tight club of mahogany behind her. She’s changed clothes, though—her walking blacks. Must have had a Draka staff meeting, I think. She usually wears the blacks when they have a formal meeting.

“Yes, Muhmis. Sorry.” I stand up and bow from the waist. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Obviously,” she smiles a little. “Come with me—let’s go for a walk. We need to talk, my saafn.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 16

“Only a fool trusts his bloodline to a vault.”  
\-- Draka saying, c. 445 F.S.

**  
Jenny’s new body is resting quietly in the bed, with a few sensor tendrils still attached. She’s in excellent health; the clone-tank produces a body at optimum level, equivalent to a nineteen-year-old who’s always followed a rigorous diet-and-exercise program specifically tailored to her genes. I didn’t order any changes, apart from deleting the vermiform appendix and correcting a few minor faults like short sightedness.

“What’s the prognosis?” I say.

The tech is a servus from the Prime Line, still a little bewildered by the environment, but very competent. 

“Uhmis, the personality template was very complete, considering that the subject hadn’t had a transponder implanted at birth. As memories are randomly accessed by the subject, the transponder automatically records, and triggers memory cascades at a subconscious level. Six months to a year is sufficient for reproduction of the basic pattern, and we’ve had more than two decades here. Subjectively, the subject will experience continuity from earliest memory to the moment of unconsciousness at death.” A pause. “Are you sure you wish no alteration of the pattern, Uhmis?”

“No,” I say, smiling and letting the servus feel my approval. “That would be… cheating. Still, the analysis you made will be helpful in conditioning her. Evidently a more… strenuous initial breaking will help her long-term adjustment to domestication. Full function is restored immediately?”

“Yes, Uhmis. There will be psychological disorientation, but full body/brain function resumes on waking – equivalent to coming out of ordinary deep sleep.”

“That’ll be all,” I say. “Well done.”

The tech retracts the equipment, transforms it into an attaché case, and leaves with a bow.

“Wake up, Jenny,” I say, touching her shoulder.

Eyelids flutter, and the dark brown eyes dart around the room. They focus on me, and she screams. I wait, then shake her a little. She whimpers and falls silent, eyes enormous. I’m giving her a fairly strong jolt of pheromonal stimulus – a little fear, and the full battery of desire/domination; her scent changes in response, and my nostrils flare.

“Whu- whu-” she babbles, and I lay a finger on her lips.

“Your transponder,” I say. “It downloads your memories and personality template automatically, and it’s stored elsewhere as well. We cloned a new body for you from your own cells, and… installed it.” I grin, and she whimpers again. “Did you think you’d ever escape me? No, Jenny, you’re mine. And you will be forever and ever.”

I pull the sheet down. “It’s partly my fault, though,” I go on, touching her lightly. “When I broke you originally I was distracted, and then I took you for granted. This time I’ve got the leisure for a more thorough taming, and I can keep you in close contact for the necessary time… a month or two, I think. When we’re finished, you’ll have a completely positive adjustment.”

She screams again as I get onto the bed and stretch out on her; the sound cuts off as my mouth comes down on hers and she struggles to breath. I growl with enjoyment, locking her eyes with mine. They’re pools of fathomless despair…

**  
I look into Gwen’s eyes, deep leaf-green caverns. “Is this what you want?” I wave a hand toward the cowering form on the bed. I don’t look that way; seeing Jennifer alive again is shocking enough without seeing my friend going quite mad.

“What I want? I want her, and you, to believe me when I say that you’re mine. All mine. She’ll… deal with this. She’ll stabilize in a few days, and then I will break her completely to my will. As I have you.” Gwen’s voice is calm, cool, and collected; she stands naked, overlooking the fields and village in the distance. The wind moves the filmy drapes by the window; the morning sun glints through the trees.

“But you’ve…”

“I’ve done with my property as I will. Don’t ever forget exactly what you are to me, my wench.” She turns, and smiles at me, even white teeth in a predator’s aristocratic face. “You’re mine to do with as I will; your body and mind belong to me.”

“What the hell good is a mind, Gwen, if you’ve driven it mad?” My yell surprises me, and her eyes open a fraction larger. Moving in a blur of speed, she pins me, hard, against the marble wall of the bedchamber. I struggle for a moment, and then stop, going limp in her grip. “Or is that what you want, you really want? A bunch, a herd of mad, sniveling little wenches? No one with enough spirit to tell you when you’re making a mistake? No one with enough spirit to put their lives on the line for yours?”

“No.” She shakes me, hard enough to make my teeth snap together. “That’s not what I want. Jennifer forced my hand, Erin, and you sure as all the Gods won’t. Don’t push me much further…” Her voice trails off in a deep, ripping, guttural snarl, and her lips peel back, showing even more teeth.

“Am I supposed to be frightened?” I stare at her. “I’m not. I am loyal to you, completely. More than you know. But I am going to tell you when you’re making a mistake. Put her down, Gwen, kill her now. Do it out of love. She’s not Jennifer anymore; she’s insane.”

“Jennifer will recover. Don’t” another shake, harder than the first, “don’t be this way. I don’t like it, and you know what happens when you annoy me.”

“Yes, you’ll beat me. Spank me. Humiliate me. But that doesn’t change anything, Gwen. It doesn’t. You need humans, sane ones, if you’re going to go places in this Universe. Reviving them, because you don’t like it when they kill themselves, isn’t the best way to go about this.” I hold her glare with my own, matching will for will. Inside, a tiny voice is screaming to be heard, one that says not to push this homo drakensis further than I have so far…

Gwen sighs, and then tosses me over her head, so that I land on the bed, next to the quivering, shaking person I used to know as Jennifer Feinberg. The human woman squeals in fear, and I crouch, on all fours, facing Gwen, waiting. She stands there, steel-strong muscles limned in the morning light, and stares at me. I should, by all counts, be absolutely terrified right now; her pheromones are blasting away at me, and I feel the foundation of my anger—what’s keeping me going—start to melt away under the assault.

Somehow, I’m not reacting to this like a normal, ordinary…human. My god, Jenny was right. I’m not human, not completely, not anymore. What the hell am I, then? My thoughts momentarily distract me from what’s happening outside my head and—

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, wench?” The Draka leaps from where she’s been standing and lands astride me, flattening me down to the mattress with her heavier body. “What? Hoping to push me into a killing rage?”

“No.” I lay under her, willing with all my might not to fight back. The biomods Gwen’s had implanted in me lend themselves to combat and to action in stressful situations, not lying still underneath someone. I grit my teeth, feeling sweat trickle down my face, past my ears to the linen cover of the bed. “No, Muhmis, just…umph…” I struggle to breath, with her weight crushing me down.

“Just what?” Gwen sits up, pushing her hair out of the way, over one tanned shoulder.

“I’m trying to get you to see what you want.”

The Draka sitting astride me laughs. “I know what I want.”

“No, you don’t. Or you wouldn’t have revived her.” I nod my head toward the foot of the bed, where the newly-revived Jennifer is cowering. “You would have accepted that death was her choice.”

“She made that choice when she decided to serve me instead of dying, before the Arrival. I don’t take serfs going back on their word very well.” Gwen glances over to the shivering woman, and snarls. The woman’s expressive brown eyes widen, white all the way around, and she freezes in place. No longer shivering, barely breathing, she waits.

“Gwen, she couldn’t stand it. She hated having the rejuve done, you know that. When she found out that she couldn’t emigrate, what’d you expect her to do? That’s not Jennifer! She’s dead. Dead as in no longer with us, as in… ack!” Gwen’s hand closes around my throat and squeezes. Well, hell, after all I’ve been through, to die like this…this is bullshit. Something clicks in my head, and everything goes red for an instant. In that moment of time, I buck Gwen off me, tossing her over my head onto the floor on the other side of the bed.

Leaping to my feet, moving faster than I can think, I crouch on the floor, feeling the rattan carpet beneath my bare toes as if for the first time ever. My heart’s loud in my ears, pulse pushing 120 or so. The combat biomods have kicked in, and my breathing speeds up. Using my transducer, I make a call—Schalk! Schalk, please, I…we need you! Here!

I’m coming! I see a brief image through his eyes, through my transducer; a volume of poetry fluttering to the ground, and a pretty buck, and a wench, in various stages of undress, scampering out of his way. A Draka in a hurry isn’t something to—

Gwen vaults past the bed, her left foot aimed at my head. I duck under it, surprising us both with my speed. As the foot—beautiful in its extension, tanned, steel-strong muscles and tendons visible in the clear morning light—flies past me, I grab the heel and yank with all my might. Gwen obviously isn’t expecting me to be able to grab any part of her; hubris, the Achilles’ heel of the Draka, allows me to pull her off balance and down.

“Gwen! Stop!” My Command voice isn’t as strong as a Draka’s, never will be, but the practice pays off. There’s a momentary pause, as Gwen pushes herself off the floor. There’s murder in her eyes now, though; I feel like a springbok looking at a lioness. Inside, though, the combat biomods, somehow altered by my human physiology, are pumping, and I find myself on top of the dresser. I hadn’t been aware of the command from my brain, but my legs responded, putting me up here in a single, smooth leap.

“Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, stop!” I try her full name. It doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, but Schalk bursting in the door does. She spins in place, hands held out in defense, her snarl cutting through the stillness of the room. He crouches in response, automatic, I think; then blinks and waves toward Gwen with the “enough” sign, used during their training.

“Gwen?” He stays still, extremely still, for a long moment. I watch Gwen’s back, as her lungs heave, pushing oxygen into her system far faster than a human’s body could. 

Slowly, very slowly, Gwen stands up. Turns around. Looks at me. Time seems to freeze…

I grin. “Like a possum up a sassafras tree…here I sit, a’waitin’ fer ya.”

Schalk frowns, unsure of what’s been going on but pretty sure he doesn’t like any of it. Gwen’s face turns into a mask, even her eyes going cold and uncommunicative on me. Is this it? Is this when she kills me? I glance past her to the desk by the bedside, where her holstered pistol and scabbard, with its layer knife, wait. Hell, I thought maybe the joke would snap her out of her rage…

“What…”

“It’s fine, Schalk,” Gwen says, turning back to him. She smiles, slowly, and holds out her hands. He walks to her, and they look at each other for long, long minutes before embracing. Their grip would be bruisingly strong for a human to endure, I think, but for them, it’s a reaffirmation of their love for each other. And a sign of peace—they’re not challenging each other in any way. Odd, the things you notice right before you’re probably going to die.

A soft sniffle breaks the silence, and the Draka turn to the bed, where the resurrected Jenny crouches. Her eyes are still enormous, and the shaking’s back. My stomach churns as I look down on her, or down at the person who resembles my friend. My dead friend, I think; the Jenny I knew and loved isn’t here anymore. “Wench…” Gwen holds out one hand, and the girl whimpers even more loudly. “Come here, Jenny.”

Hesitantly, like a fawn, she moves closer to the two Draka. Gwen runs a hand gently through her hair, and then says quietly, “Go to your quarters. You remember where they are. Stay there until I send for you. Understand me, Jenny?”

“Y-y-y-yes, M-m-m-muhmis…” She bows, and runs past them, out of the room. Schalk walks over and closes the door behind her.

“Now, why are you two so furious at each other, and why is Erin on top of the furniture?” He turns to face Gwen. “And why is she calling me using a priority channel?”

“I don’t know. Get down. Now. Sorry if she disturbed you, my love. I will handle this.” Gwen’s voice is glacial. I slowly climb down, the hormones still singing their siren song inside me. My muscles twitch, uncontrollably, as I try to fight down the urge to… fight.

“No, this is something serious. Let me help you, Gwen. I’ve never seen you this… upset.” He reaches out a hand, and she moves away, toward me. There’s an odd light in her eyes…it reminds me of someone, something… oh, God. It reminds me of Yolande. Shivers run down my spine as I watch her come toward me. There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere safe. All I can hope for is that it’s fast…

“Gwen!” Her eyes snap back to Schalk, and widen at his tone. A growl begins, deep in her throat. “No, Gwen. I’m not challenging you. I’m telling you to think, instead of react. You know we’re prone to do that—react without thinking. I’m asking you to stop. Whatever Erin did, she must have had a reason. Either that, or she’s gone mad, and needs to be put down. Which is it?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you answer him, wench?” Her glare, if it could, would cut me into ribbons. I know it down to my toes. Despite that, my voice is calm:

“I’m no more mad now than I was this morning when I woke up. I’m not mad, I don’t think… although living under Draka rule for more than 20 years could drive a saint mad. I’m… angry. I am also frightened. But I had…have… a reason for my behavior. Gwen knows. She just doesn’t want to say—”

“Gods be damned, I’ve had enough of your fucking insolence!” Gwen’s fist lashes out, and I feel my ribs cave in. Red hot pain lances through me, and every breath is like inhaling hot sauce. I stand back up, holding my side.

“It’s not insolence, it’s the tru—”

Her foot slams into my left knee, and it cracks. An ordinary human’s knee would have shattered beyond repair under that blow; the biomods I’ve received spread the impact out, lessening the damage. Still, it hurts to stand on it. Part of my mind has gone very still, now, watching and wondering when the lethal blow will be delivered. These Draka know human physiology, and they can make torture like this last for days. That thought doesn’t make me feel very good, but I stand up again and clear my throat.

“It’s the truth…even if you kill me, Muhmis, my Gwen…” I manage to get all of that out before the side of her hand slaps the side of my head, making my ears ring. My vision goes double for a few seconds, and I shake my head to clear it. A thin stream of blood trickles from the corner of my mouth now; my teeth cut my cheek on the inside, where her hand slapped me.

“Gwen, please,” I whisper. “Please…”

Her hand goes back for another blow; this one will be the kill-strike, I think, watching her as if I’m a million miles away. As it begins its descent, a tanned blur— another hand— reaches out and stops her. The two Draka look at each other in surprise. Gwen reacts first. “Let go of me, Schalk.”

“Stop punishing her and let’s listen. She’s not being insolent. Listen.” He lets go of her hand, at the wrist, and it stays suspended in the air for a moment in front of me.

Gwen looks at him, then her hand, then me. Her hand falls to her side, and one eyebrow goes up, coolly. “So, you’re on her side, Schalk? Taking the side of a human over that of your lover?”

“No. I’m not taking sides. I’m asking you to listen to her. If, after listening, you decide she should be ripped apart by ghouloons, I’ll toss her in the pen. You know that.” He strokes a strand of hair from her face with a finger. “I’d do anything for you.”

Gwen sighs, deeply. Turning to me, she says, quietly, “Then talk.”

“Gwen, Muhmis…please. I meant no disrespect; in our little tussle, I never raised a hand to you. I merely responded. You know that. You’ve known me for all these years, and you know I’d die for you. Almost have, several times. But that’s not the point. That’s not why I risked life and limb,” I walk slowly over to the end of the bed and sit down, wincing at the slight movement of my broken ribs, “to get you to listen to me.”

“Then why?” Her voice is still cold, terribly cold.

I look up into her aristocratic face. “Because I love you. Because… you need to figure out what you want. Do you want mindless automatons, doing your every bidding? Or do you want humans, with all their good points and bad points, doing your will? There’s a difference. Are you going to turn into Felice Vashon, and make us all servus? Would that make things any easier for you? Would it help you accomplish the things you need to do?”

“Perhaps.” Her hands on her hips, she glares down at me.

“No, Gwen, you know that’s not true. You have all the servus you’ll ever need, for God’s sake. What you need, what the Domination needs, are true humans. If you wipe us out, or resurrect us when we decide we can’t live anymore, you’ll end up with what you had before. And you’ll end up losing the next war, or the one after that, or one down the line, because you don’t have any more humans.”

“You place a rather high value on yourself.” She caresses the side of her hand; must have hurt, cracking my reinforced ribs, I think.

“Not on me, but on the potential of the human race. We’ve talked about that before. Schalk, you know I’m right, don’t you?”

He looks from me to Gwen, and back again. “I’ve done some thinking about it. Their innate curiosity, and aggressive nature, are quite…helpful to our exploration program, Gwen. It would complicate matters a great deal if we didn’t have them to work for us.”

“It complicates matters greatly when my lover agrees with an insolent little twit of a wench, whose gods-damned ribs are as hard as granite.” Gwen walks over to the window, and crosses her arms in front of her.

“True. What really complicates matters greatly is asking you to believe in me, to trust me, even though I’m a human. That’s the core problem. That, and resurrecting someone, and keeping the memory of their death as part of the process. That’s…cruel.”

“Cruel? Cruel? What in the seven hells do you know about cruel?” Gwen whispers.

Schalk walks over to the wet bar and makes two large brandies. I guess he needs a drink, too, I think to myself, as I watch him walk back over to us. I notice, for the first time, that he’s stark naked. He’s certainly the cat’s meow, as far as men go, part of my mind thinks irrelevantly. Too bad I like women more. To my surprise, he hands me one of the snifters, and the other to Gwen. She accepts it without turning or acknowledging him. Schalk turns back to me, and smiles. “Drink up. You need it.”

Gwen has swallowed about half of hers; she’s got to be upset, I think. I start to stand up, to go to her side, but Schalk motions me back down onto the bed. I sit back down, and wait. Gwen’s shoulders are tense, muscles flexing under the smooth olive skin. From outside, from the open window, birdsong and the noises of a busy farm day begin to greet us.

**

“I’m… umm… a little better now.”

Interesting, I think, watching through the House surveillance link. 

Erin evidently can’t master her curiosity. “What’s it… like?”

“Dying?” Jenny smiles a little. “It’s like taking a knockout pill, as far as I can tell. I – one minute I was dying, and the next minute I’m lying in bed and Gwen’s telling me what happened.” She shudders a little. “It was a bit of a shock. And then she was at me.”

Erin smiles and pats her on the hand. “You must be recovering a little if you can do an understatement like that. She didn’t, um, hurt you, did she?”

“Well, not really. It was just so… relentless. Erin, I’d decided to die, and then I found out I couldn’t even do that, and… she said she was going to break me down to bedrock this time, and I can feel it happening.”

“We had a bit of a tiff about it,” Erin says.

I snort mentally. Now who’s understating? I’ve seldom come so close to losing control without actually doing it.

Jenny sighs and flops back in the chair. “I suppose I’m just going to have to accept it, or go nuts… and I don’t want to go nuts. I could feel that, too, got real close to it and she’d back off for a while, then as soon as I recovered enough to be coherent…” A twist of the mouth. “And you know, the really weird thing is she wasn’t even angry with me, really – said it was her fault for not being careful enough…”

Erin sighs too, and touches her ribs – they should be healing nicely, with the acel treatment. “Jenny… I’m sorry, but I can’t really think of you as Jenny.”

“I know what you mean. I… she… died. You saw it, so it’s real to you. But it doesn’t feel like that from in here.” She taps her head. “It feels like I was unconscious for a while.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then Jenny sits up. “You know, maybe that’s the way I should think of it. I’m not that Jennifer Feinberg. I’m… I’m Jenny d’Ingolfsson.” She takes a deep breath. “And I’ve got my own life to live. Or the one Muhmis gives me, whatever. And Jenny d’Ingolfsson is a saafn wench, and she can live with that. Accepts it.”

She stands and comes over to Erin, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “But thanks, cornpone. Thanks for helping me through things.”

“Whatever I can,” Erin says. “Where’re you going?”

Jenny grins a little, and rolls her eyes. “Where do you think? Muhmis and Uhmas Schalk are waiting. They’re going to… seed me today. Muhmis says brooding for her will help settle me down.”

**

I walk through the fields, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying for calm. I’ve maintained myself this long; can’t risk going off half-cocked right now, I think to myself, counseling with a private sternness that I rarely show others. I’ve survived this long…through things I never thought I could, but somehow…

My feet guide me towards the creek, a babbling, rushing little waterway that cuts diagonally through the estate. Mockingbirds and cardinals are singing, defining their territories, and I find myself wishing I had a territory to define. But you gave that up when you chose to serve, to submit, and not to die, the tiny, quiet voice in my head whispers. You don’t have a right to anything…not your body; not the lives of your friends. What do you have?

Hell. I have life. That’s better than the alternative. I guess. There’s no going back now, anyway. Even if I blew myself to atomic shreds, Gwen would resurrect me, like she has with Jenny. And that just weirds me out, completely. Sometimes the ruthlessness, the cold, predatory ruthlessness in the Draka amazes me. They do things I’d never think of doing. But then again, I can be creative and think of things they haven’t, I realize. I have that power over them.

They realize this; one reason why they’ve kept the human species around. We’re more than just fun pets or something; our creativity is our lifeline. That, and the links we’ve managed to make with the first generation of Draka born on our timeline. That’s important, too. Got to keep working at it, can’t give up. If I do, then there’s nothing, nothing but a cold, empty, aching void. I’d do better being lobotomized. And I don’t want that, either. 

Another thing your Muhmis wouldn’t allow, the voice savagely notes.

Another? She allows me to dream. I can still dream. I can still think for myself. I’m still able to do that, if nothing else…and I can plan. What I have planned is still so dreamlike I can barely admit to myself that it really exists. But it does; what’s that saying, “revenge is a dish best eaten cold”? It’s not exactly revenge I want, it’s…justice? Peace? Something. I guess I need to define that, too, I think, since I can admit I do have a plan for the human race.

Who gave you the right to plan for your entire species? The voice is cutting; I wince, mentally. 

I gave it to myself. I had to; Peter’s dead. We ended up, by blind chance, at the defining moments of our civilization. Some say, some said, that we were traitors to the human race by helping the Arrival happen. That’s not right, I say to myself, that’s not it. The Arrival was happening, whether we were alive or dead. We chose to try to cushion the change, make the transition easier, less bloody. They could have landed, biobombed the entire damn planet, and waited until the tailored bacteria ate the bodies. Then they’d have a nice, pretty, slightly polluted planet to themselves, with no pesky damn humans running around, bleating about rights and treason.

Treason, now, would be to give up completely. I can’t do that. I see what we can be, where we can go, and I might be able to see how we can get there. I can’t give up now. Even if my friends die, or kill themselves, and are brought back as different versions of themselves. I can’t give up. My daughter’s died for the human race, the Samothracians, and, yes, for the Draka who call themselves masters. The child I carried in my womb for nine months died at her side. They knew, too, what they were doing; they weren’t blind to why they were ordered where they were.

And you helped order them there, to their certain deaths…whispers the voice. 

Yes, yes, damn it, I did. And I’d do it again, if the situation were the same. Even if it was one of the other children, or me, or Gwen…even Gwen. If it meant the saving of several races of sentient beings…yes. Instead of buckling under the horror of the Bugs’ attack, we united and fought them off. Then we united and destroyed them, and managed to do it even though common sense and political ideology said we couldn’t. I risked everything for that, too, just like before in the Bug War. It was worth it.

I look up at the sky, watching the night settle in. My eyes are better than human eyes are, now, with the biomods; I can see the traces of aircars in the upper atmosphere, and watch as an orbital battle station floats by, a bright speck in the evening sky. Those hold the power to make or break a planet, I think, as my hands twist a piece of wood to shreds. I don’t notice as the wood crackles to the dirt at my feet. My ears are logging the sounds of a Southern forest getting ready for darkness; birds settling down; the smell of honeysuckle is strong here by the creek. 

A fish jumps for an errant fly, and the sound makes me turn towards the shimmering, sunset-lit water. The curls and ripples of the creek are umber and gold, mahogany and deep charcoal black now, as the sun dips past the horizon through the trees beyond. Unconsciously, I catalog a family of squirrels readying themselves for sleep and a curious raccoon that pauses to watch me before continuing on her hunt for crawdads. Her black, hand-like paws make wet prints along the flat, slab-like limestone rocks along the creek bed, and she hurries away.

I have to keep going, I think. No matter how guilty the voice inside—yes, you—tries to make me feel. No matter. As the Draka would say, “Needs must.” And the human race needs the chance. That’s why we need Gwen, and the Draka here on this timeline. The others—Felice Vashon on Earth/3, Archon Alexis Renston on Primeline—they’re dangerous, and fey. Yeah, that’s a good word for them, I think. Makes me remember Tolkien, and the choices, no matter how difficult, that his characters had to make. But this isn’t a story, with a sort-of happy ending, ships leaving from the docks… it’s real, and I have to deal with it, somehow.

Footsteps, soft as cat’s paws, come through the woods and I freeze. If it weren’t for the biomods, I wouldn’t have heard a single thing. Looking back over my shoulder, I don’t see anyone until Gwen steps out into the dying sunlight. It highlights the mahogany sheen of her thick hair, and her eyes glint as they adjust from the forest gloom to the last rays of the day. Seeing me, she smiles, slightly, that odd, closed in curve of her lips that intrigues and arouses me… 

“So here you are…” She comes to sit on the log next to me, and idly toes the remnants of the hickory stick I’ve shredded while thinking. “Been…cogitating?”

“Yes,” I smile. “About all sorts of things.”

“Jenny being one of them?” Her teeth are bright, an even flash of white. Somehow, on some level, it reminds me that she’s a predator.

“Of course. How’d the seeding go?” I look off, watching the last luminous rays of the sun dip below the horizon through the treeline. Grasshoppers stop singing and crickets take up where they left off, their urgent striations ringing through the grove.

Gwen chuckles. “Just fine. She is a wonderful little pony. I know you were upset about…well, things. Her resurrection, for one, and the, ah…changes…you’ve noted in her. She’s just adjusting better than she did before. You were different; I knew I had broken you to my will by the time we went to Tahoe. Yes?”

“Yes.” I stare at my hands. It sounds so cold and clinical to talk about it like this. Should it be any different? Should it be caged in words of romance and love, or should it be honest? I can’t make up my mind, and shake my head slowly from side to side.

“Sweetlin…please, I don’t want to hurt you over this. But there are things you must accept. You know that. We’re working on something…different, you and I, and it’s not going to be easy. But you know how I feel about you, don’t you?” Gwen strokes her hand through my hair, and then down my back, caressing, massaging.

“Yes, Muhmis. I know. I’m sorry if I seemed insubordinate today…earlier. You have to realize…um, I’d like it if you’d think about…how important this is to me. And to you. And Schalk. Do you?”

The drakensis slides her arm around my shoulders and squeezes, stronger than she would have if I wasn’t one of the Mark Ones, but still gently. “Yes. I’ll try to do that. Come on, it’s time for dinner. Then, perhaps, a game of chess? Before bed?”

Hand in hand, we walk back to the mansion as the night settles over us, ending a day that had been one of the longest of my entire life. Deer watch us pass, their heads cocking up and to one side as we move through the trees, almost silently. They watch with the instinctive wariness that has served them so well in the past—and they identify us correctly: predators. But of each other, I wonder? Or can we channel this some other way, to some other purpose? I don’t know yet.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17

**

I look down the long table, watching as the older children laugh and giggle. The adults talk quietly. This is Alois’ thirtieth birthday party; every Ingolfsson who could make it is here. I watch Schalk as his eye momentarily blank, accepting input from his transducer. He’s got to be nervous like a chicken next to a weasel, with the necessary security arrangements, I think. I know I would be.

Servants bring trays of food—hams, whole chickens, stacks of ribs—to join the already full table. Draka eat like no other race I’ve ever seen; the Samothracian guests look askance at it at first, thinking it’s typical Draka overkill, but once the eating begins, they’ll realize there won’t be many left-overs. The wine and the brandy have been flowing all day, and a few of the Samothracians and other humans look a little… tozzled. The Draka around me look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; they won’t slow down a beat until probably three or four this coming morning.

Candles in iron tripod stands surround the table, casting a golden light over the celebration. I hope Alois likes his present from me…I left it on his bureau, where he’ll find it tomorrow, when he gets up. It’s a hand-tooled leather-bound edition of The Lord of the Rings, and each page has been hand-illustrated and lettered. Cost me many, many aurics, but what the hell. I have more than I can ever spend, even being unaging, I grin to myself.

The smaller children—twelve and under—are seated under a pavilion a few yards away, having a great time away from the grownups. I smile as Gwen and Schalk’s latest—Andromeda—dances around several nurses and caregivers in a row, until she makes it to our tables, and to Gwen. The bright red hair is hard to miss, even in this red-haired crowd; she chatters briefly with her mother, and then consents, after hearing Gwen’s answer, to being led back, in triumph, it seems, to the children’s area. 

Jennifer, looking radiant, takes Andromeda by the hand and walks her back there; as Tantie-ma, Jenny is a very persuasive person. As she is in most things, I think. Even when it’s not really… I stop myself in mid-thought. It is her, just accept. It’s been how many years? Ten? Almost eleven now, since Jenny committed suicide and then was resurrected by the Draka who owns her.

“Sera, could I interest you in some ribs? Some chicken? Perhaps—”

“I think my steak is enough for now—thanks, though,” I answer, patting the servus’ hand gently. The biomods jack my metabolism up much higher than a human’s, true, but I’ve had a whole chicken, on top of the steak, and that’s about all I need. I nibble on some salad, enjoying the red wine dressing over the garden fresh lettuce and other fixin’s. My wineglass happens to sink below half-full, and is instantly refilled by another servant, this one a human. The pretty young wench blushes as she catches my eyes enjoying her, and then smiles boldly at me.

“May I serve you in any way, Sera? Honored One?” Her tongue flicks out, tracing a delicate line along her full lips, and she consciously preens in front of me, a hand brushing thick blonde hair back from her face, smoothing the front of her uniform.

“Perhaps later, my dear. Look me up…if you’re not too busy,” I murmur.

“Yes, Sera, of course,” she whispers in return, blushing even deeper rose than she was already… and scampers away to refill more wine glasses. I don’t quite do what the Overlords do—pouncing whenever and wherever the notion takes them—but I certainly wouldn’t mind pouncing, I think.

I hear Alois’ delighted laughter ringing down the table, and look up to see Emily blushing prettily. They have managed to keep their secret for this long, I wonder; if she keeps blushing and carrying on like that, though, people will make the obvious connection. Too much wine, perhaps? Maybe I should…

Ah, Erin? Gwen’s voice whispers silken in my ears, through her transducer to mine. Perhaps Emily should visit the rose garden and walk a bit. Metabolize some of that wine she’s had… I hear an overtone of humor, but it’s also a keen sense of awareness that prompts Muhmis. I nod, and walk over to where Emily and Alois are sitting.

“Emily, dear girl, how about going for a brief walk with me?” I pitch my voice low, catching and holding her eyes with mine. “The roses are in bloom—let’s go walk over there and then we’ll be back just in time for dessert. How’s that sound?”

Emily smiles giddily at me. “Can Alois come, too?”

Alois’ eyes have blanked momentarily—his mother talking with him, I bet—and then he smiles at his lady love. “No, darlin’, you and Erin go on. I have some politicking to do here. Then we’ll enjoy dessert together, love.”

“Oh. Um, well. Well, okay,” the Samothracian woman stutters, and I take her hand firmly in mine. 

“Come on, the walk is a lovely one. I helped design the rose garden, you know, and this year it has really come into its own. Tell me what you think…” We walk from the crowded tables, and I guide her into the multicolored lawns, keeping her moving as much as I can without being too obvious about it.

Thanks, Erin, Alois sends. He seems a little embarrassed; maybe Gwen came down too hard on him, I think. She tends to have very high standards for her children, and sometimes…she’s a little too hard. But she’s learned, I consider, as I walk with Emily, she’s learned, since raising Alexis Renston. Boy, has she learned.

**  
“The roses are really lovely, Erin. I’m surprised you have enough time to do this, with everything else you do…” Emily sways a little unsteadily on her feet, but smiles at me.

“Oh, I stay busy, but his is one way I relax.” I stroke one opened rose with my fingertips, lightly touching the petals as they nod in the slight breeze. “It’s important to find something, some way, to relax.”

The Samothracian woman looks at me, still smiling. “I know a way…”

“Girl,” I laugh, “you wouldn’t be talking this way if you were completely sober. Hush, now…”

Emily grins, and runs her tongue quickly along her lower lip. “But Erin…you do remember that kiss I gave you, years ago?” Her hands reach out to hold my face, and draw me closer, close enough for a kiss.

I lean back, and catch hold of her hands, gently. “Emily. Darlin’… I know you and Alois are an item, and I have no intention of joining you two. That kiss you gave me a few years ago was lovely—really, it was—but that’s in the past. OK?”

“You’re being standoffish? I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Emily pouts. “I thought…”

“What? That because a Draka owns me, I jump into bed with anyone?” My voice is harsher than I meant it to be, but still, underneath, something really jerks my chain about her comment. Chain, indeed, says the tiny voice in my head, always ready with a sardonic quip. I tell myself to hush, mentally, and try to smile past the words I’ve just said.

Emily pulls her hands away—her Samothracian cybernetically-enhanced strength showing clearly. I bet we’d be about an even match physically, I note to myself. Hope I don’t have to find out. Maybe she’s just a silly drunk, not a mean one. “That’s not what I meant, although I can’t understand, still, after all these years of knowing you, how you can stand—”

“Hush. I mean it. You’re a guest here, and try to act like one. Don’t go around insulting your host. That’s not…healthy. I really mean it, Emily. You know as well as I do how much you have to watch what you say, vocally or otherwise.” My eyes seem to spear her, holding her in place with my glare. “I’ve lived too long under them to risk everything because a silly woman is drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Emily says quietly, a fury of her own building in her eyes. “Not drunk enough, maybe.”

“What? What’s that mean?” 

Her arms cross, defensively. “You don’t realize how hard it’s been to keep…things… under wraps for so long,” Emily says.

“Things? Your relationship with Alois?”

“Yes. And I couldn’t help but notice how much he seemed to enjoy some of his birthday presents,” she whispered, the last word coming out in a venomous slash. “And we can’t even hold hands, or anything, and I’m not getting any younger, damn it!”

To hear a Samothracian cuss is like seeing a backwards rainbow, I think to myself. She’s really upset, and not just drunk, although the lowering of her inhibitions definitely has something to do with this. “Emily, you knew…you knew going into this that it would have to be very very low key—nothing public. Your countryfolk aren’t ready for this, and I’m not sure how many Draka are, either.”

“I don’t care! I don’t! All my life I’ve spent obeying orders, following the rules, and being a good girl, a real Border Scout. I’m sick and tired of it. I want to be with Alois; I want to be able to hug him in public, or kiss him when I want to…you won’t even let me kiss you!” She turns away from me. Moonlight cascades down on us, dappled through the rose vines on the trellis. Off to the west, a whippoorwill sings, and a shiver runs down my spine. 

“Emily,” I begin, softly, “I know what it’s like. Believe me…having a relationship with Gwen’s not been easy, either. There’s one way to behave in public, and another in private. But we cope.”

“Cope? Cope? You enjoy bending over for her, you…you…you slave!” Her voice cracks in fury. “That’s all you are. That’s all I’ll be, if I decide to be with him in public. He won’t even consider emigrating!”

“How the hell can he emigrate, Emily? He’s a freakin’ Draka, for Christ’s sake. One Draka, on Samothrace? How long do you think he’d last, before someone settled a grudge against his race? That’s…”

“Oh, so it’s fine for me to be a slave, like you, a boot-licker, nothing but a…a…whore!”

“Whoah! Whoah, right there, little lady. Don’t go callin’ me names like that. We’re not communicating any more. Emily, I mean it. Before you open your mouth again,” I raise my hand, and her mouth shuts with a snap, “you better think about what’s coming out. You’re angry, you’re hurt, and you’re doing a damn fine job of insulting me. I’m not a boot-licker, I’m not a whore. I am a serf, and will be for the rest of my life. That was my choice.”

“Hmph!” The woman turns away from me, shoulders stiff. I can see the heat radiating off her body in waves, and wait in silence for what else she wants to say. Why am I putting up with this, I wonder? I have better things to do, like…like that pretty little blonde number, I think to myself. I shouldn’t have to be nursemaid to a drunken Samothracian.

“So, what’s wrong here?” Gwen’s voice is smooth silk against my skin, and I turn to see her leaning casually against one of the trellis supports, a Corinthian column of marble. “Erin?”

“Um, well…I think Emily’s just been venting a little, and maybe the wine and everything’s been a little too much for her tonight,” I begin.

“Hell. Everything’s been too much for me tonight. And it’s tough if you don’t like what I say, Erin. You like bowing down before Gwen, and I don’t understand that. Never will. I don’t want to bow down in front of Alois, I want him as an equal. And I can’t have him that way, so why the hell do I bother?” Emily’s voice is bitter.

Gwen looks from the Samothracian back to me, an eyebrow raised coolly.

“I serve Gwen. That’s part of my decision, one that I made years ago. I won’t go back on it. And I love Gwen. You may think that’s impossible, but it’s true. And it’s mutual. That’s been true for years and years now. If you can’t understand that, how that could happen, maybe it’s best you don’t go any further with Alois than you’ve gone.” My voice is flat, masking my anger. Inside, a rage is building that’s scaring me. All these years, I’ve spent with this woman, and all the fusses we’ve been through, and the good times, and the ecstasy…and still, someone like this, who’s in love with a Draka herself, can’t understand it?

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh, youngling?” Gwen speaks directly to Emily. “I know a little about human psychology, and I think you’re labeling Erin with the fears you have yourself about your relationship with my son. Does being submissive bother you that much, or does it simply make you feel guilty about feeling good?”

“That’s all I need, psychology lectures from an Archon. Thanks, but no thanks.” Emily turns to walk back to the party, and I reach out and take hold of one of her arms.

“Emily, apologize. You’re being a fool. This isn’t like you.”

She jerks loose. “The only fool around here is you, and you know it. Whore.”

I grin. “Don’t make me queen-slap you, girl. I’ll knock you cross-eyed if I do. Now listen to me, and listen well. Either take a sober pill, and get your head on straight, or go to bed. Alone. If need be, I’ll have you escorted to your quarters. You’re not messing up Alois’ birthday party.”

“Are you threatening me, you… serf?” Her voice is cold, colder than I’ve ever heard it before.

“Promising.” I move to stand in front of her. Behind me, I hear Gwen’s subvocal order to Security, to send a human detachment to the rose garden. Then Gwen’s hands are resting on my shoulders.

“Girls, girls…both of you calm down, right now.” Her voice is firm, with undertones of Command in it. I relax against her hands, feeling some of the tension flow out of me. That’s a mistake…

Emily punches almost straight out, into my midriff. The air whooshes out of me in an agonized gasp, and I thud back against Gwen, hitting the top of my head painfully against her chin. Her damn Draka’s chin is harder than my head, a tiny portion of my mind notes, feeling the blood trickling down my forehead. I’ve already begun to move, when a strength greater than my own picks me up bodily and moves me to one side. There’s a blur of motion, a short squeal of anger, and a deep growl.

I wipe the blood out of my eyes and look down; Gwen has Emily pinned to the grass. Gwen’s off-the-shoulder Grecian gown is now completely off everything; it’s strewn about us. She sits easily on the woman beneath her, ignoring the steady and rather creative stream of derogatory vocabulary coming from Emily. Amazing she can get that much volume, I think, since Gwen’s basically squashing her to the grass. And that’s some vocabulary—didn’t know the Samos said such things!

The human security team arrives, and for a moment, I think they’re going to blast Emily, seeing her wrestling with Gwen, but Gwen’s grin of mastery tells the team leader all’s well. In a few economical, practiced motions, Emily’s restrained. They stand her up, with Gwen’s help, and slap a controller cuff on her wrist, and activate it. I’m sure Samo security is going nuts right now, but Gwen’s eyes have the blank look in them that means she’s talking with someone via transducer. I hope it’s someone Samothracian, I think, or we’ll be getting more visitors here than we want.

Commander David Packard—well, now he’s an Admiral—walks through the garden quickly, to stop in surprise at the scene before his eyes. “You told me to hurry, but…Emily, what in the world is wrong with you?”

“Get this thing off me…ow!” She tugs at the dull metal bracelet, and then jerks her hand back as it gives her a warning twinge. “Please?”

“Well, now you’re rediscovering your manners. How nice,” Gwen comments, brushing grass off her shoulders and knees. She ignores the remnants of her dress. “David, please escort Emily to her quarters, sedate her, put her to bed, and then please meet me in my library. All right? Once in her quarters, the security team leader will remove the cuff. It’s there as a precaution, nothing more.”

“Gwen?” Schalk appears, brandy glass in hand. His eyes look over the scene warily, and then he relaxes as his wife grins at him.

“It’s fine. Bit of a tussle. It’s all over.” She gently nudges Emily toward David. “Go to bed, girl, and we’ll talk in the morning, whether or not you have a hangover.”

“Don’t…” Emily stops in mid-sentence, David’s warning glare shutting her mouth quite effectively. After a moment, she opens her mouth again. “Yes, Archon Ingolfsson.” David walks her away, with the human security detachment, toward the House and bed.

“Oh, Erin, you’re bleeding…” Gwen picks up a shred of her dress and wipes my forehead off gently. “Let’s see, now…”

“I’m ok. Really. Your chin’s just harder than my head. My stomach hurts a little, but it’s ok. I’m fine,” I babble, backing away. 

“Erin, ssssaaaa, come here, little one,” Gwen says softly, and Schalk moves to stand behind me, his arms sliding around my shoulders. “It’s all right…”

“I…I…it’s just that…I’m really…angry,” I whisper, feeling my body shake. “I mean, really angry. I’m scared, I’ve never felt like this, all shaky…”

“It’s all right. The biomods…you need a way to work this off. You showed lovely restraint, by the way, my sweet. Lovely. And I know just the thing to work off the shudders…don’t you, Schalk?” Gwen kisses me, deep and long. I feel his lips nibbling along my throat, and his hands begin to caress me, as Gwen’s do. I shudder more, but for a different reason. Tickles of pleasure run down my sides, my back…

“Ah…well…mmmhhh. Ok. You’ve convinced me…” I return the kisses, first Gwen, then Schalk. “You’ve convinced me!” Gwen chuckles, and kisses Schalk as her hands fondle me.

“Let’s go to my quarters…we have a few moments before I have to meet with David…and we need a band-aid for your poor hear, my sweetlin’…” She scoops me up in her arms, and the two Draka walk me to Gwen’s bedroom. The next few minutes are…intense; enjoyable; exciting…and too damn brief, I find myself thinking. After showers, we’re ready to meet David, and I wonder what in the world we’ll be able to do about the situation. Something’s off-kilter, I think, and Emily’s upset about more than just Alois.

**  
David apologized for Emily’s behavior; Gwen graciously accepted, and the party seemed to go on as before. I was tired after the little emotional go-round, and decided to take a nap. Soon thereafter, Gwen joined me, and napping was over for the night…

I stretch and yawn, thinking over the events of the past twenty-four hours. Odds bodkins…I smile at the young wench who wheels the breakfast cart in. She bobs her head in return, and Gwen purrs from the tousled bed… I walk over to the cart and get a couple of apples to munch on, bow toward Muhmis, who’s rather busy at the moment, and leave the Draka’s bedchamber.

Walking through the gardens, feeling the early morning dew on my bare feet—watching the birds and occasional critters like raccoons—and sometimes stumbling over a couple wrapped in an amorous embrace, I feel relaxed and happy. Well, almost happy. There is the problem with Emily…

That seems to push my feet in the direction of the guesthouse. I accept the intuition, and follow my feet. Tossing the remnants of apple core away, into the bushes, I enter the guesthouse with my transducer supplying the code, and look for Emily’s room. I’m pretty sure she won’t be up yet, after the night she had, and the amount of alcohol she had consumed, but maybe…

“Good morning, sunshine…” I call, knocking lightly on her door. Of course, with the security clearance I have, I could just walk in, but I hate doing that. I always want to respect what little privacy we humans have left to us, and don’t usually intrude on someone. I hear a muffled groan from within, and then shuffling feet coming to the door. It opens, revealing a badly-hung-over Emily standing there, hair in a rat’s nest and eyes red as the sunset.

“Um…good morning.” 

“Hi, sweetie. Want some breakfast?” I smile, leaning against the doorframe.

“Urrr… no. No food. Water.” She turns around, heading for the bathroom, and I walk into her quarters. Usually neat and tidy, it looks like she put up a bit of a struggle last night before being put to bed by her commanding officer and Gwen’s human security detail… clothes scattered about, an upset vase of flowers, papers strewn on the floor. I pick them up carefully, and put them on the table by the little sun-lit alcove near her bed. Nothing interesting, either, I note, after looking over the papers. But that doesn’t surprise me; not much interesting gets put on hard-copy these days.

She emerges a few moments later, hair brushed and pulled back, face washed. She has a glass of water in one hand, and sips on it occasionally. “Um, Erin, about last night…”

“That’s what I came over here to talk with you about, my girl.” I pick up a dumped-over chair and sit down on it. “We need to talk.”

“I wish we could have some privacy…” She glances from side to side, a gesture picked up from the Draka, I think; I wonder if she even knows that. Using gestures of the enemy… I smile.

“This is as private as it gets, girl. Now, what’s up?”

She sighs deeply, and sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean all the things I said last night, and I know I really gave myself a black eye socially. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. This is all so confusing, and I drank way too much, and I feel awful in several senses of the word.”

“I’m sure you do. Keep drinking the water, and maybe take an aspirin or two. That’s about all that will help the hangover. Believe me, I know.” I lean back against the hardwood chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. Muscles ripple as I move, and I notice them as if for the first time. I’m pretty darn pumped, if I do say so myself…Peter would be proud…I pull myself back to the present. “It just didn’t seem like you, that’s all.”

“I know. I know. God above, hell below, I don’t know why I was so…”

“Yes, you do. Come on, truth time.”

“What?” She looks puzzled.

“Seriously. You do know why you did everything you did last night. We’ve been friends for over ten years now, Emily. No bullshit allowed. You need someone to talk to, and so far as I know, I’m the only human within hollerin’ distance who also knows what it’s like to be in love with a Draka.”

“Um,” Emily blushes at my frank language. “Well…I drank because I wanted to shut out some feelings, but they just got stronger after a while, and then I didn’t seem to care what I said or to whom I said it. That was dumb. I wanted to hurt you. I did…and I’m sorry. I wanted to get some sort of reaction out of you, since you’re always so calm, cool and collected.”

“Me? Naw.”

She smiles. “You? Yes, indeed. I wish I could be as composed as you are most of the time. You’ve been a sort of role model for me, on how to behave around them. You know?”

“Thanks, I think.” I smile again. “Why were you calling me all those names?”

“Huh…you know, that’s one thing that made me furious. Gwen’s picking up on that—how she nailed me about calling you names, and why. Not so much that she nailed me, nicely, but that she was… right. I hated that. She was, though. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“So you were labeling me the way you felt?”

“Yes. Sorry. It’s true. I just hate that…”

“I know. Believe me. Gwen can be infuriatingly right sometimes. Makes me want to tickle her breathless sometimes, or scream, or something. And she’s so calm and ‘knowing’ about it, too. But that’s part of her being Draka. They think they know everything, and understand everything about human psychology.”

Emily looks up at me wide-eyed in alarm. “Can’t you get in trouble for…”

“Well, yes, I can, but it’s the truth. Hubris is one of their weaknesses. But they know it, too, or most of them do,” I chuckle. “So I’m not a whore?”

“God, no. I’m sorry. And about what I wanted earlier…”

“When you were ready to lay one on me?”

“Um, does that mean ‘when I was ready to kiss you’?” She blushes deeply.

I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I really wanted to. I don’t know why, and I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman before. Like I’ve kissed you. Is it some weird thing to do with the Draka? Since we’re speaking openly here?”

“No. I think you’re just exploring places in yourself that you’ve never really thought about before. I certainly didn’t mind when you kissed me that time before. You’re very good. But I really think you’re more, or mostly, straight. You know, hetero. I don’t get the vibes from you that I’d get from a woman who was more…homo. Like I am.”

“Oh. Oh…,”Emily says, more to herself than to me. “Oh. Well. I liked the way you kissed me back, too. Really. But I like the way Alois…well, you know. Um…”

“I know.” I sigh. “Believe me, if I thought there was a chance, I’d take you in an instant. But I think it’s all a matter of wiring, and our wires wouldn’t mesh. Not too well, anyway. But that’s ok. We’re friends, even if you do turn into a harridan when you get sloshed.”

“Hey, I wasn’t…well, I guess I was…” She hangs her head down. “But…oh, God, Erin, I want him so much, and I hate him, too, and I don’t know what to do, and there’s no one to talk with about it!” The words seem to be ripped out of her, and she shakes silently afterwards, as tears start to flow.

I move over to her, sitting next to her on the edge of the unmade bed. “Hey, now, shhh… it’s okay. You can talk with me. It’s okay….we’re friends, darlin’…shhhh…” I stroke her back, waiting for her to regain her composure. “I know exactly how you feel, too. I’ve been there, done that. Didn’t get a tee-shirt.”

“What? You say some of the strangest things…” Emily manages, between sobs. “What’s that mean? A tee-shirt?”

“Oh, well, it’s an old saying now. It means I’ve had that experience. That’s all. I’ve been working on my relationship with Gwen for over thirty years now—almost, really, closer to half a century. At first, it was damn hard. I used to cry myself to sleep at night, or if I was with her, I’d wait until she was dozing, and then I’d go in the shower, turn it up high, and sit in the floor and cry. Believe me, I know how much it can hurt.”

“But you love her.”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “Yes, I do. And she loves me. We’ve worked together on it. She’s had to learn to trust me, and I’ve had to learn to let things go that I never thought I could. But together, we’ve managed. It takes a lot of talking, a lot of work.”

“Alois and I talk a lot.” She wipes her face off with her hands. I lean over to the bedside table and hand her a tissue box. “A lot. But still…there are times I just don’t understand him, and he can be so damn arrogant, and condescending…”

“I know.” I continue stroking her back rhythmically. “Comes from being an Ingolfsson, or just from being a Draka, which one it is, I don’t know.”

“Maybe both.” She manages a smile. “But I’m in an awful place, Erin. I don’t know which way to go. If I go to live with him, I have to be his saafn, his serf. I can’t give up my rights as a human being like that…” She stops short, looking embarrassed.

“What? Oh, you mean, how can I live the way I live?”

Emily looks down at her hands. “Well…”

I sigh. “Look, Emily, I had a choice to make way back when. It was either serve and live, or refuse and die. I didn’t want to die. And the more I thought about serving, the more I realized I might be able to make a difference in how the Arrival went down. I think between Alice, Tom, Peter and yours truly, we convinced Gwen to go easy when the orbital battle platforms arrived. Otherwise, it might have been—would have been—much worse.”

“But you’ve been given…chances…”

“Chances for freedom?” I nod, closing my eyes. “I was offered a chance to join some simple-minded rebels right after the Arrival, and when I declined, the person offering tried to kill me. When I was offered a chance to defect to Samothrace years ago, I could have. But that would have precipitated a crisis, and it would have also ruined…something.”

“Your relationship with Gwen?”

I shake my head no. “Not just that. I have…dreams…of what might be, one day. And if I had left, when I promised not to, then why the hell would she ever trust another human being? I mean, look at her track record. The brooder who raised her—a human woman—turned out to be a spy; her mother—a human—was more than a bit mad; her biomom, another human—was dead before Gwen was born. She spent the early years of her career fighting in the killsweeps of North America, which also left her with some rather horrific memories of humans, and what they can be like when trapped like rats in a cage.”

“Oh.”

“ ‘Oh’, is right. Gwen has grave difficulties trusting humans. For good reason. But I’ve managed to work past most of that with her. Not all of it, certainly. But most of it. If I left, just to gain my freedom, I’d be dooming a whole lot of humans to a much harsher regime than they have now. Understand? Listen, I’m not trying to be noble about this. I’m not much of one for noble gestures and all. I’m a little ole country girl, who’s trying to be practical, and trying to think about the future. That’s what you need to do, too.”

“But I can’t be a serf. Why can’t Alois come with me?”

“Because his life expectancy on Samothrace would be about as long as that of a snowball in hell. Think about it. You’re a target, too. Not only do you like one of the enemy, you’re damn well in love with him. That doesn’t make you very…politically correct…in your neck of the woods.”

Emily shakes her head, sighing. “But I want to be with him, Erin!”

I sit for a few moments, cogitating. “Hmmm. How about…well, it might not work…”

“What?”

“What if…we reinstated the Metic citizenship thing? You could be a Metic Citizen—can’t vote,—but you can live with—even marry—another Citizen. They handed it out right freely to ex-Alliance personnel in the space forces, after the Final War. We could…we could base it on the fact that you’re not really totally human.”

“But I am! I’m not a…well. I’m not a…ah, how should I say this? Genetically, I’m human.”

“Your AI and all your cybernetics make you more than human. Believe me. You smell different from a plain old human. You move differently. You’ve been raised much differently. So…we could say that since you’re not really human, you could be sort of in-between—in-between a serf and a Citizen, which places you just about smack-dab on Metic Citizen.”

“You think they’d go for it?” Emily’s eyes look brighter.

“Possibly. I don’t know. It’s just an idea. They would like to learn more about your cybernetics, and your other systems, and this alliance thing—the peace treaty—has held together longer than anyone predicted, even those who supported it in the first place. So the worst they could say is, ‘No!’, and we’d be back here where we’re at right now. Plus, we’d have to get your people to go along, too.”

Emily stands up and begins to pace, clasping her hands behind her back. David does that, I think, and she’s picked it up from him. Outside, the party’s beginning again, with children’s voices pealing through the morning air, drowning out the early-morning birds and farm sounds.

“You know…” Emily says, then pauses.

“Yes?” I answer, lying back on the bed, my hands behind my head, feet comfortably crossed. 

“If I’m not quite human, then you aren’t, either, Erin. Think about it.”

Oh, like I don’t, ever…every damn day, I think sarcastically to myself. Out loud, I reply, “I do.”

“So…you and I could both be Metic Citizens. You wouldn’t have to be a serf anymore. This is wonderful!”

“Um…”

Emily stops pacing and looks at me in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘um’? This is your real chance for freedom, girl…”

“Look, Emily, I just tried to explain. If I betray my word to Gwen, I lose. I lose more than if I stay her serf. I won’t be applying for Metic Citizenship. You can, and any other Samo can, but no humans from here. Or Earth/3, not that Felice Vashon would ever allow any of hers to do so.”

“But…”

“But nothing. I am Gwen’s. I’ve accepted that, and I have built…plans…around that. If I leave her, go to her one day and say, ‘Yo, baby, I’m a Metic now, and you can’t boss me anymore!’, I’d lose more than what I’ve lost already. I can’t stand to lose all that, darlin’. Nor can I really talk about it with you, Emily, right now. But believe me, I’ve already thought about it, and decided. That doesn’t mean you can’t, though.”

She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “I just don’t understand how you can…submit yourself…to her. It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s what I’ve lived with these years. It’s why I’m a Mark One, a modified human. It’s why I’m her prime councilor. I won’t change that. Sorry.”

“I’m just sorry for you, Erin.” Emily walks to the edge of the bed, and stares down at me. “You’re willing to put forth a plan to give humans a chance at some sort of freedom, and you won’t take it yourself.”

“I wish I could. But there’s too much riding on… staying the same. Try to understand.” Emily’s staring hard at me, and I can see her lips twitch with the impulse to ask. I head her off at the pass: “Please don’t ask. I can’t answer you.”

“Oh. Oh, I understand. Okay. Um…when were you thinking about presenting this idea to Gwen? Or is that who you’d run it past first?”

“Yes, depending on the mood she’s in, I’d like to ask her this morning. Strike while the iron is hot, and that sort of thing. It may get past her, but the main opposition will be from higher up. Prime Archon and his Prime Council probably won’t like the idea much. We’ll have to be patient, and take it slow. Understand, Emily? We can’t jump into this and expect it to run perfectly smoothly the first time around.”

“Understood. Hey, how about breakfast? I feel a little peckish now, compared to how I was earlier. The water helped. My head still feels like someone’s banging a drum inside, but it’s not so loud now…” She smiles at me. “Thanks, Erin. You are a true friend. If you can ever tell me what your other ideas are, will you? Please?”

“Yes, honey, I will, if I can. It may take many years to achieve, but I have hope. Where there’s life, there’s hope. That’s what’s kept me going all these years. Plus the sure and certain knowledge that if I killed myself, Gwen would revive me just to kick my ass higher than my ears.” I smile, and then the smile runs away, remembering Jenny. The new Jenny’s not the same person, but almost as sweet. Certainly as smart…but there’s something…missing.

“I heard about Jenny. I’m so sorry…” Emily hugs me tight, compassionately. “You’ve had a rough time, Erin. You’re so strong.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m not just stubborn, not strong.” I sigh, feeling her pulse beat against my ear. Her tummy rumbles loudly, too, and I remember her suggestion of breakfast. “Let’s go find something to eat, before all the Overlords arise and eat everything in sight, like they did last night. Come on, old girl.” I stand up and take her hands, squeezing lightly.

“I love you, Erin. I mean, like a sister or something.” She blushes again, prettily.

“I love you, too, Emily, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d tell a Samo! Come on, before we get all weepy and mushy again…let’s go eat. It’s going to work out for you and Alois, I can feel it. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Hand in hand, we walk from her quarters toward the busy tents full of children, servers, and breakfast, as the sun rises in the bright blue sky over Gwendolyn Hall.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18

**

Gwen’s standing at her desk, looking out over the rolling hills of Gwendolyn Place. Her face is calm, composed…you’d never think she was upset, unless you noticed the whiteness of her knuckles, or the fact that she’s extremely still. Her leaf-green eyes have a distant look, but it’s not the way they look when she’s using her transducer. This look is more thoughtful. I come to a sudden stop, noticing the tension that most humans would have missed (and regretted it most sincerely, believe you me), and sink to my knees at the entrance to her office.

Putting my left hand down and towards my back, I wave off the young assistant I brought with me—Mary—knowing that she’s not experienced enough around Draka. She can learn, of course, but this is not a good time. She queries me: Sera? Did I forget something, or do you want me to bring you something?

No, sweetlin’, I reply. I was going to let you take notes during our meeting with Muhmis the Archon, but now is not a good time. There’s something in the air, you might say. So maybe next time. I just don’t think you want to be here right now. Okay? I’m sure you can find other projects to work on this afternoon, or you could take the rest of the day off if you’d like. You’ve certainly earned it.

To myself, I think: She sure has. Green as a wheat field in spring, but eager, willing to learn, and a great sense of humor. She’s a sweet kid—good-looking, too, but a bit young for my tastes. In a couple of years, though… I smile inwardly. Then I may have her take some private notes… but she doesn’t need to deal with an unhappy Draka. She’s sort of scared half to death of them anyway—working bravely on getting over it, though. Her voice tends to emerge in a slightly squeaky whisper when talking with them, but Schalk’s been nice to her, and Gwen’s been fine, too. Mary just needs a little time to adjust. 

I watch, from the corner of my eye, as Mary bows slightly toward me and rising, walks away. Her long black hair floats down her back, moving in the early morning breeze coming through the hallway from floor to ceiling French doors. Her blue eyes smile at me, and I see, to my surprise, a blush creep across her fair skin. With those looks, and that absolutely delicious Irish accent, my girl, you’d go far even if you weren’t close to genius level on the IQ tests, I think. I smile back at her, and then turn back to the office and Gwen.

Muhmis has moved over to the windows, and has clasped her arms behind her back; her fingers are beating out a rapid tattoo against each other, and I recognize the beat. It’s to one of the old Draka songs, “Follow Me”. The anthem of the Directorate of War, actually… I shiver.

“Come in, Erin, and sit.” Her voice is cool, distant. Tight.

“I hear and obey, Muhmis the Archon.” When Draka are this uptight, it’s always best to go strictly by protocol, I muse. Any little thing—something they usually laugh off or ignore—could be the basis for a hell of a beating, or worse. Another good reason to send Mary O’Connell away for today. I sit in one of the chairs in front of Muhmis’ desk and wait quietly, hands in my lap, my head down.

Suddenly, Gwen turns from the window, and strides toward the desk purposefully. “Come with me.” She walks past me, inclining her head slightly in the direction of one set of doors .They lead from her office down a short hallway, decorated with some of her artwork and some of Alois’, into a small room. This room is a safe room—no Prime Line sensors can penetrate it. It’s one of the improvements on security that Schalk and I worked on here recently, after Gwen requested it. Mary, I remember, was instrumental in developing some of the technical aspects of the room. Another reason I’m so impressed with the wench.

Gwen sits down in one of the leather chairs, and gestures for me to sit next to her in another. I pull it a little closer, and sit down facing the Draka who owns me. “Yes, Muhmis?” The door has sealed hermetically behind us; not even an antimatter bomb, unless it was a huge one and a direct hit, could budge those doors, I think.

“We have a bit of a situation. I’ve called Schalk in from his hunt and he’ll be here momentarily. I’ve also asked Tamarindus and Yolande to join us. They’ll be here in about an hour. Tamar was visiting Yolande’s Landholding, which is doubly convenient.” 

“A bit of a situation? You’re really upset, Gwen. What’s going on?”

She smiles and reaches over to stroke my face gently. “It’s the culmination of a lot of things, actually. I have a decision to make…” Gwen sighs. “And I want the best for those I love.”

“Can you tell me, or do you want to wait for the others?” I smile impishly. “If it’s going to be a few minutes until Schalk gets here, and an hour before the others, perhaps I could relax you a bit…”

“Sweet wench,” Gwen laughs. “No, actually, for once, I’m not in the mood. But I’ll keep your offer in mind, believe me.” She’s quiet for a long moment, then, and finally sighs. “But I will tell you what’s going on. Earlier today, a friend of mine on the Archonal Council—the Prime Line one—called me and warned me that a major political upheaval was going to happen. The Vashons are behind it, of course, but their NeoConsevatives have basically won the day in the Senate. That makes her very powerful indeed, and it may be the end of Alexis’ reign as Archon.”

She stretches, muscles flowing like machined steel in oil under her light cotton briefs and tee shirt. “I don’t know, though; if he throws in his lot with the Vashons, that will enable him to keep his office. I also don’t think he disagrees with their centralization emphasis, either. He’s been worried about that for years now, ever since the Arrival here.”

“He’d turn over a new leaf? He’d stop being a Von Shrakenberg Mafia fan, and go over to the Dark Side?” I ask, wonderment in my voice. I’ve never liked Alexis, but I never thought he’d betray family political interests that easily.

“Yes, in a heartbeat. He’s always been afraid I’ll decide I want to be Prime Archon again. I don’t know why he’s so threatened by me, but he is. Another reason for him to support the new faction. They believe, also, that Earth/2 should be “brought under control” and that it should be more like Earth/3.” Gwen watches me for a reaction, and she gets one.

“What? What? My god, Gwen…that’s…”

“Yes. I find it very distasteful, myself. Especially since bringing it under control would involve removing me from office rather permanently. The feud between our families has found a way to express itself very visibly through these maneuvers. And I don’t intend to stand still for it.” There’s a muted beep as someone queries the door, and it shushes open to admit Schalk. He looks a bit disheveled, but very serious.

“I’ll download my files on this to you now,” Gwen says, rising to kiss him firmly on the mouth. “I need to make a decision, and you and the others I can manage to contact fairly discretely and quickly would be kind to give me some feedback…”

“Of course, Gwen. Archon.” He nods, and sits down, his eyes wearing that temporary blank look of someone reviewing things via transducer. “Great Baldur’s Balls!”

“Yes,” Gwen says dryly. “A bit.”

“What are you thinking about doing?” I ask.

“I have to go to Archona.” 

“But no—that’s not a wise thing to do, given the climate, the…”

Gwen cuts me off gently. “I wasn’t given a request. It was an order. If I refuse to obey it, the orbital weapons platforms will make things very…unpleasant.”

“But they wouldn’t! You’re planetary Archon!” I stand up, fists clenched at my sides. “You’ve had all of the commanders here to dinner!”

Both the Draka laugh at my outburst. Gwen’s the first to recover completely enough to talk. “Child, child. Most of the commanders are loyal to me, but in the last couple of months, some of them have been transferred out, and new commanders cycled in. They’re most definitely not loyal to me, but to the Prime Line Archon. Another reason why I think Alexis is changing his position, and a sign that he’s been thinking about it for quite some time.”

“You’re going, then?” Schalk speaks up.

“Yes. I must.” She walks over to a three foot wide crystal model of the Earth, and turns it slowly on its axis. “And I’m going alone.”

This time it’s Schalk that reacts, but he’s only milliseconds ahead of me. Gwen smiles at our protests, and finally, still smiling with that odd, closed-in curve of her full lips, she waves us back into our seats and to silence. “I know, I know. Listen to me…no, Schalk, listen. I’ve been over this a thousand times in my head. This is what I’m going to do. I don’t want to risk any of the rest of you on this political battle. I have some allies there, enough to help me. I want my command structure intact here, in case…” She pauses.

“In case of what, Gwen?” I ask.

“In case I don’t return. If that happens, then I want you to blow the mole hole to Prime Line, and establish your independence with the Samothracians as a separate Domination of the Draka.” 

“Good lord! You’re…serious?” I swallow, nervously, and look from her to Schalk and back. They nod. Apparently they’ve had a few discussions about this already. “But…” I pause. “That’s a huge step, Gwen.”

“Yes.” She continues to spin the globe, resting her fingertips feather-light on the moving crystal. Continents are traced with platinum; seas are faintly colored with sapphire. I watch as it moves under her hand for a long moment, considering what she’s just said. I never thought I’d hear what I just did, I think to myself. This is amazing.

“What are the things that are driving the NeoConservatives? What issues, Muhmis?”

Gwen smiles. “Let’s see. Earth/2 humans are uppity, ill-disciplined almost-ferals; I have led the youth of several generations of Draka born here down a revolutionary path, ignoring Service to the State and how it leads to glory for the Race. I have a human lover; I’ve publicly said I love her. This is considered very… unusual. Suspect. I have been a major backer for the continuing negotiations with the Samothracians. I have given a human an unlimited life span. I have been a proponent for genetically modifying humans, as I did with you and a few others. And, the crème de la crème: Metic citizenship.”

“Yes, you’re a Von Shrakenberg Mafia member, too. Remember that. Plus, you’re the last surviving Elder; the first generation of New Race Draka. I think that worries people like Felice. And Alexis. But I really think you should reconsider going to Archona by yourself, Gwen. You’re really leaving the door open for an assassination attempt.” Schalk’s voice is serious.

“I didn’t know that the discussion of Metic citizenship had gotten any further than just us, Muhmis. How’d it get to Alexis and his crew?”

“He has spies everywhere; I’m inclined, however,” Gwen grins at Schalk, head of this planet’s Security Directorate, “that he learned it from the Samothracian diplomatic team here.”

“But…why would they tell? Who among them knew? I thought it was going to stay mostly Packard’s plan for quite some time.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand why someone on the Samos’ team would provide…oh. I think I understand now. Sorry. I’ve always been a little naïve that way…” Some of the conservative Samothracians would like nothing better than to get rid of Gwen as planetary Archon, and therefore have a reason to pull out of the peace treaty discussions. People like Emily Richardson’s mother. Oh, lordy, I think.

Oh, lordy…

**

Having expected Yolande and Tamarindus to bring their serf assistants with them, I’m surprised to see that it’s just Yolande, Alice, Tamarindus, and her Kawtuh Selka who have arrived. They quickly join the meeting, and express just as much shock as we had. But in the end, the Draka gathered there decide to support Gwen’s plan. She’ll go to Archona by herself, as a gesture of both willingness to serve the Race and as a demonstration of her personal power. Self-confidence counts for a lot, I think, but the Achilles’ heel of the Draka has always been their hubris. Is this what Gwen’s actions are?

I make arrangements with the House steward for Yolande and Tamarindus, and their serfs, and then wander, thoughtful, out into the rose garden. It’s a good place to think, and I need to think. Something is telling me Gwen’s making a mistake, and that even if we blew the mole hole—not even thinking about the idea of losing Gwen, something that would break my heart now—it might not work. The Samos might think we were easy pickins that way…or the Prime Line Draka could try to pinpoint us again, and we’d have a fight on our hands that would be really ugly. I shiver, even though the sun’s nice and warm. Bees bustle past me, hurrying to the nest with nectar for their honey.

“Erin?” Emily greets me cheerily. “Guess what?”

“What?” I smile. Inwardly, I wince. I need time to think, damn it!

The young woman—well, she’s in her mid-thirties now—sits down next to me on the hand-carved wooden bench, underneath the trellis of wild rose I planted when Alois was five years old. “I have some very interesting news.”

“And?”

“Are you okay? You look a little worried.” She smiles at me, but looks at me with concern. “Maybe I should come back later?”

“No, no…it’s okay. Nothing that I can tell you about. What’s your news?”

“Well, my aunt Livia found something the other day, and here it is. She sent it through the mole hole with a courier, even though that must have cost her an arm and a leg. You haven’t met Livia. She’s a LeFarge, you know, and they’re really tight-fisted about money. Livia married my father’s brother, Robert. They have three kids, and a ranch…”

“Yes. That’s nice. So, what’d she send you?”

“I was getting there…”

“You were going around your elbow to get to your thumb, is what you were doing, child.” I grin at her. “Now tell. No fair, teasing.” In the back of my mind, a name keeps running past me: LeFarge. Where have I heard that name before? 

Emily produces a small wrapped package. “I really don’t know what it is, so I thought we’d share the surprise!” She hands it to me. “Open it!”

“Don’t you want to?” I heft the small package in one hand. “It’s kinda heavy.”

“No, you can. It’s another way of me saying, ‘Sorry’ about the other night. I really am.” The young woman blushes deeply. “So go ahead!”

“Okay,” I answer, and rip the wrapping paper off. Underneath, I find a small journal, tied with a black silk ribbon. There’s a silver monogrammed ML on the front. The edges of the book are worn, some, but the backing’s intact. I look it over, and then hand it to Emily. “Your turn—you get to untie the knot.”

“Oh! Look at the letters. Real silver, too. Wow,” Emily says. Carefully, she undoes the ribbon and opens the book gently. The first lines that strike our eyes, as we both crane our heads to look inside are: 

Personal Journal: Living for Freedom.  
Started January 14, 1999. Finished April 12, 2005.  
For my children and for my country, Samothrace. 

And then a woman’s firm, flowing signature:

Marya LeFarge.

“Oh, mah gawd!” I gasp. “Do you know who this is???”

“Um, no.” Emily looks back down at the book again. “LeFarge. So she’s related to my aunt Livia. Livia’s brother, Ken LeFarge, is a really important political guy back home. In fact, he’s been president twice.”

“Emily…Marya. Marya LeFarge. It’s Gwen’s Tantie-ma. Yolande’s former serf, the one who escaped with news of the Stone Dogs virus, after planting a virus of her own in the Draka compinsets. The one who triggered the Final War, along with Yolande. Remember reading about that?”

“Great Lord Above! You’re right. Oh, wow, Erin! What should I do?” She looks down at the book in her lap in amazement.

“Read it! That’s what I’d do. Then I’d think about telling Gwen about it. But only after I read it,” I caution. “It might not be the best thing in the world for Gwen to read, actually.”

“But she’ll know it exists, if she accesses your transducer,” says the Samothracian woman. “So we can’t hide it from her.”

“She’s got a lot of things on her mind right now. I’ll tell Schalk about it, though. Plus, Gwen’s going to be out of town for a bit…” I pause. Consider. Decide. “No. Tell you what, Emily, let’s you and I take a short walk. Come with me.” Taking her hand in mine, I walk her towards the House. Towards the secure room.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter 19

**  
“I just wish Gwen had listened to us about taking at least a couple of people with her, Schalk,” Tamarindus murmurs. Yolande, her blue eyes dark and moody, nods silently. Schalk shrugs helplessly, still staring into the transfer chamber where Gwen has disappeared.

“I did my best to talk her into it,” he finally says. “Now we have to wait, and keep in contact with her. You have the secondary and tertiary systems set up, Erin?”

“Yes, Uhmas. Double and triple checked, too. Even if one system is compromised or disengaged, Gwen can still contact us through either of the other two.” Mary nods, standing behind me and nervously twisting her fingers together.

“Good. You’re dismissed. Remember, though, we’re on Orange level alert status, so don’t wander off.” He turns and walks away, his face worried, his manner curt. The other two Draka exchange glances significantly, and then Tamarindus walks over to me, putting her arm around my shoulders.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Her strength urges me toward the exit, and I decide to go along. I don’t know what they have planned, but I have a plan of my own. With a little help from my friends, I think… we can accomplish the seemingly impossible. I hope...

“Um, well, Uhmis, where are we…oh. Okay,” I stumble verbally to a stop, as her eyes sear me with a glare that would melt steel. Yolande walks up to us, and puts her arm around me from the other side. Mary hangs back, but follows, unsure of what to do. 

“You, two, wench. We’ll have a jolly time,” Yolande says, waving my young assistant forward. “Come on.” They walk us around the gardens, chatting of inconsequential things, and seemingly by accident, we end up back inside the House. Yolande picks me up, Tamar picks up Mary, and moving faster than any human can, the Draka rush us into the secure room. 

“We don’t have much time, because they’ll notice we’re ‘off-line’. Now listen. I know you have a plan, Erin. You’ve been acting too damn calm about all this, with the way you feel, or say you feel, about my daughter. Let us in on it. I don’t have time to quibble with you.” Yolande’s face is inches, mere inches from mine; I feel the heat of her breath hitting my cheeks, and her eyes are studies in blue intensity.

“I have a plan, you’re right. And I was hoping for your help. Here are the details…” I direct my transducer to download certain encrypted files, as well as the decryption code. The two Draka look surprised, and then confused. Finally, I see a wave of anger, almost fury, sweep across Yolande’s face.

“You gods-damned fool! How dare you bring the Samothracians in on this? You little traitorous bitch…” She reaches for my neck, and I block her hand with a forearm.

“I’m not a traitor, damn it, and you will keep your hands to yourself, with all due respect, Uhmis, or face the wrath of my owner. We don’t have time for this, Yolande. Listen to me, both of you. Not all the Samos are bad lots. Some are actually okay. They’re the ones who are helping us now. At most, five Samos know of the plan. I had to use them, since if we use Draka craft for part of this, there’s no way we’ll get through. Plus, the Samos have some new cloaking technology that will enable us to get away when we’re done, as well as avoid detection of our transducers.”

Mary speaks up for the first time. “She’s right, you know. Please, Overlords, listen. We’ll be smuggled aboard Samothracian traders, our transducers shielded. We can’t reveal to you right now how that works. They’ll get us to Prime Line. Here, simulations of our transducers will continue to send signals. We can’t reveal how that works, either…”

Tamarindus cuts her off. “You’ve got too damn many secrets. I don’t like this one bit. Schalk doesn’t know about all this, but he will. Or I’ll have his head.”

“No! Listen! We’re not doing this to be disloyal. We’re doing this on the principle of letting the least number of people know the essentials, in case we’re captured. Think for a moment instead of reacting. Please. The Samos get us to Prime Line and drop us near Archona. We still use their cloaking devices, and we’ll be in the company of Samo merchants. From there, we need to get to the Palace, and that’s where we need your help.”

“How can we get you there? Aren’t we shielded, too?” Yolande asks, interested in spite of herself.

“Two Draka here will give you downloads of their transducer signals. Once we get to Prime Line, and Archona, you’ll ‘become’ them. Neither is high ranking enough to make Prime’s security directorate wonder about them, and both are in the acquisitions branch of the Conservation Department. Ostensibly, you’ll be two researchers going to the museums. You’ll have three serfs accompanying each of you. Mary, Patrick and I will be ‘yours’, Yolande; Emily Richardson, Yannan and Shawonda will be ‘yours’, Tamarindus.”

“A Servus?” Tamar’s eyebrow goes up at a critical angle.

“Yes. He knows the compinsets backwards and forwards. That may come in handy, in locating Gwen. Plus, he’s, well, adventurous.” I grin. “And yes, you get to have the real Samo on your team. Each team has an objective.”

“Which is?” Yolande says quietly. I think—I could be wrong—but I think I see a glimmer of respect in her eyes.

“Your team will penetrate the Palace, and find out where Gwen is. The team you’re leading, Tamarindus,” thinking to myself, yeah, that’s right, butter up the Draka, let them think they’re leading as usual, “will ensure we have a clear route to the Samothracian ships once we have Gwen. We have another Draka’s identity to cover her transducer, but I bet that it won’t be necessary. I’m figuring on when we grab Gwen, the shit’s gonna hit the fan no matter what we do, so we’ll be depending on you to get us the hell outta Dodge.”

Tamarindus looks confused. “What?” 

“Get us out of Archona, and off Prime Line. Once we’re back in this time line, the mole hole will be blown, severing the connection. We have a team ready for that, too, headed by Alois. Jennifer will be helping there, as well as Rosta.”

“Will we be piloting the Samo ships?” Yolande brushes the blonde hair from her forehead.

“No. Two pilots, friends of Emily’s and David Packard’s, have volunteered. Alexandra will be flying with one of them, as backup.” I hold their eyes with my own for a long moment. “This is the only chance we have to save Gwen, and the plan will work if we all work together. We need your help, and we need the Samos’ help. Please, work with me on this.”

A long moment of silence follows, and then Yolande reaches out toward me slowly. I startle a little, remembering that a few moments ago she was planning on snapping my neck. I watch her hand as it approaches mine, and then my mouth drops open as she gives me a formal wrist clasp. Tamar watches in surprise, too, and I can hear behind me Mary’s indrawn breath of amazement. “You serve my daughter well, and by doing so, serve the Race. I’ll go along with the plan.” Yolande’s voice is quiet.

“I will, as well,” agrees Tamarindus. “Even though I think it will get us all killed…but with the Vashon faction in power, we’d probably end up that way anyway. What the hell? Let’s do it.”

I bow deeply to both of them, and Mary does as well. “Fine. Let’s go. David has the ships ready and waiting for us. I was just waiting and praying for a chance to capture two likely Draka helpers along the way. Thank you, Overlords.”

Yolande laughs. “I don’t know about likely, but we’ll be co-conspirators.”

We quickly exit the room, and head toward the launch pad area, south of the House. David’s waiting there, nervously pacing back and forth, and he’s joined by Emily as we come up to the craft. “Finally,” David mutters, and points us toward the hatches. “Quickly, now.”

He turns at the last moment, as I’m going up the steps into the Samothracian vessel. “Erin?” he calls. I stop and look around, down at him on the flower-starred landing pad. “Bring her back, Erin. We need her. And yourself. God be with you, young ‘un.” He salutes then, and I return it with the snappiest salute I’ve done since boot camp days, over 50 years ago.

“I’ll do my best, and thanks.”

The hatch shuts behind me, and I strap myself into the crash couch next to the one holding Yolande. “This is one experience I never thought I’d have,” she says, looking my way as the ship moves slowly to the departure point.

“What’s that?” I ask.

She grins, white teeth even and sharp in her tanned, elfin face. “Riding around in a Samothracian space vessel. For starters.”

“Just think of it as a new and growthful learning experience,” I chuckle. “I think we’ll be mighty glad of them in the next few hours.”

“I hope so. For your sake, for mine…for my daughter’s sake. But mostly for the Race’s sake. I think Vashon’s on the wrong track, and I don’t want to see where she wants to take the Domination. Gwen’s on the right track, although I don’t agree with her on everything.” Yolande falls silent as we enter the transit zone. Our masking transducer covers have kicked in, and it’s sort of like seeing things or thinking things through a mask at a Halloween party. You can tell it’s there—the perceptions are slightly altered—but it’s not terribly intrusive.

Coldness—a sudden jolt, and I know outside the ships there’s been a blindingly bright flash of light as we transfer. Then it’s smooth sailing again, and I can hear the pilots querying an orbital battle station for clearance to land in Archona. It’s now or never—if they don’t catch us now, we have a damn good chance of pulling this off, I think to myself. If they catch us, we’re toasted atoms.

**  
The streets of Archona are busy with people—serfs, kawtuh, Overlords, and the occasional centaur or ghouloon, although those last are becoming quite rare nowadays. We serfs—Mary, Patrick and yours truly—walk in single file behind Yolande. She’s striding along quite normally for a Draka, nodding occasionally to others of the Race who pass by. You’d never know she’s operating undercover, as all of us are, and that our lives are balanced on a single, gossamer thread of fate.

Statues representing heroes of the Race on one side, Greek-style mansions scattered about; fountains tinkling in the warm air nearby…the smell of food from a patio restaurant makes me momentarily hungry. I lose that sensation as two black-uniformed Draka hurry by on a floater. The priority of their travel is made very clear by how quickly other floaters move out of their way. Have they discovered our plan? I wonder. If they have, they’ll be searching for us and it won’t take them long, not with the orbital battle stations.

Yolande glances back over one shoulder to me, an eyebrow raised. I shrug a little and we move on, closer to the Archonal Palace. I watch Patrick’s easy movement as we wend our way through the streets, and think how proud Peter would be of his son. Patrick’s older than Peter was when Peter was killed by terrorists, I muse. Tall, handsome, fit…his adolescent temper has cooled down and been replaced by a Navigator’s cool logic, although he still has a wicked sense of humor. I know; I’ve been the target of his practical jokes before, myself. A good man, Peter, that’s what we managed to create, you and I. I wish you could see him now…

Mary touches my arm, and I stop suddenly—what was I doing? Wake up, dummy, I yell at myself mentally. We’re at the outer walls of the Palace; now comes the tricky part. And I sure as hell better not daydream inside. You’re an idiot to daydream at all, I think crossly to myself. You can’t afford a mistake. The outcome of this little jaunt could decide the fate of a couple of Universes. It’s not a joke. Suitable chastened, by myself, I watch raptly as Yolande, in the persona of an acquisitions specialist, who’s doing research on feral humans from the Prime Line, manages to talk her way into the Palace quite easily.

The covers are working, somehow. I had faith they’d at least get us to Archona, but beyond that, I didn’t know. The product of some very behind-the-scenes work, and some great hackers, we’ve managed to take the transducer technology one step further and create copies of transducer files which are difficult to tell from the real thing. Difficult enough that the Draka security—one of the most paranoid outfits in any world, I think—hasn’t caught on. And they won’t, not unless they suddenly decide to do an audit on Draka personnel on other timelines and compare it to an audit on Prime Line. That, given the over 100 million of the Race here on Prime Line, would take a little time.

We follow Yolande into the Palace, and head down several corridors. Yolande knows this place like the back of her hand, since she was Archon for quite a few years after Eric Von Shrakenberg passed on. She was the Hero of the Tunnels, after all…Patrick and Mary are looking about them in awe—they’ve never seen this part of the building before. All around us are murals—some horrific, some beautiful—and display cases of historical artifacts. As we turn the corridor, entering into the Triumphal Walk, I know what’s coming, and wish I could use my transducer to warn Mary and Patrick. Yolande’s stride never checks as she walks past glassed-in displays of peoples the Draka have conquered…but I see Mary’s eyes go wide with shock, and Patrick’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down a couple of times. After the first few cases, both of them keep their eyes on the marble floor. I’ve been here before, and even spent one or two hours wandering this hallway, sick at heart at what the Draka chose to display.

Naturalistic vignettes, for the most part. But the bodies in the displays aren’t mannequins; they’re actual humans, preserved. Stuffed, I guess. I don’t really want to know, and never asked Gwen when she took me through here years ago. They have scenarios going back all the way to the start of the Colony of Drakia, complete with period weapons, realistic looking wounds…the sound and smell categories aren’t ignored, either. My enhanced senses pick up more on that than the two young humans in front of me, but then again, it’s sort of overkill. I don’t need or want to know what chopping people in half smells like, I think. Not something I want to do for a hobby. The one vignette that really gets me, even now, is the one depicting the “defeated ferals of the Alliance” begging for food at the gate of a Draka truck. I look away from it quickly, but the images are still burned into my mind. I shudder, and know that Mary and Patrick do, too. This isn’t the side of the Draka we’re trying to save.

From out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tamarindus and her team approaching. She’s actually taken the acquisitions role to heart, and Yannan is guiding a float cart full of packages. “Citizen Academician,” she smiles to Yolande, “how is your research proceeding?”

“Good. Seems like yours is doing better, though. Shall we meet for lunch, perhaps the Delibes Avenue pastry shop? I seem to remember your enjoyment of their éclairs a few years ago…” Yolande chatters on, completely unlike the moody, introspective poet I know she is. Arm in arm, the two Draka walk slowly toward the end of the Triumphal Walk, toward the center of the building where the Archonal Chambers are. Where Gwen is, I think, unless Alexis stashed her somewhere already. I wish I could check, via my transducer, on her location, but that would blow our cover. I sigh, and Shawonda puts her arm around my shoulders.

“Are we having fun yet?” Shawonda asks with a small grin.

“Are we there yet, Ma? Are we? Huh? Huh?” I reply. We both chuckle, and I hug her firmly around the waist. “Almost.”

My friend smiles. “I know. You should see the things Tamarindus picked out as ‘acquisitions to be transferred to Earth/3 Draka level museums, for the edification of the youth of the Race’. Or so she said.”

“Earth/3?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Shawonda nods, her teeth flashing pearly white against her beautiful chocolate satin skin. “Yep. It was pretty funny. The clerk started getting snooty, and Tamarindus just verbally fried him where he stood. Threw your friend’s most favorite friend’s name around, you know? And you should have seen the scurrying about and fussing for us after that!”

After a second’s thought, I realize she’s saying that Tamarindus used Felice Vashon’s name. Heh, heh. Used it in vain, I think. Hoo-boy, I’ll have to tell Gwen about that. I hug Shawonda one more time, and then hurry up to Yolande, who’s beckoned me. Time for the fun to start…

Across the corridor from us are two Draka, in dull green Security Directorate uniforms. They stand at their ease, watching us and anyone else within reach of their scanners. I carefully reach into a pocket as I kneel by Yolande’s feet, and lay two needle packs, each about the size of my thumbnail, on the floor next to her foot. I “fix” her sandal, and stand back up. Yolande’s still talking to Tamarindus about some sort of neo-classical whatchamacallit, and acts like she’s not interested in what I’ve done for her. Then she looks down, in apparent frustration, and tightens a strap.

When she stands back up, she has palmed, with exquisite carefulness, the two needle packs. They’re Samothracian in origin, and contain a drug that will kill a Draka almost instantly. Interestingly enough, the same drug just knocks a human out for several hours. I’m not sure how it works, but I know it does. David was very careful giving me even this amount, and only under these stressful circumstances was it possible for that to happen. Yolande huffs at me, since I apparently did a shoddy job of tying her laces, and starts walking toward the huge double doors of the Archonal Chambers.

Tamarindus walks next to her; they brush their hands together lightly as they move, and I know Tamarindus has a needle packet of her own now. I flank Yolande, and watch as the guards’ eyes track us as we approach them. Yolande’s smiling broadly, and calls out to one of the guards, “Say, isn’t that…why, it’s Turbo, from Kenia! How nice to see you, old boy!”

“Um, Citizen, I think you must be mista—”

Yolande and Tamarindus move in a blur of motion, and I’m not far behind. The two guards don’t have enough time to warn anyone—not even via transducer; even if they had tried, I had locked onto their signals and replaced them with recordings, set to loop for five minutes, of the last few moments outside the door. Anyone watching would just see some people walking about in the galleries, and an empty hallway. There’s a muffled growl, a short gasp, and the two Draka SD guards are dead. Just like that; no fuss, no muss, as Gwen’s fond of saying. Now to key open the doors, using the code chip on one of their hands—I hear Mary retching softly in the background, since Tamarindus just gives me a hand, not attached to the body anymore. Yannan moves up, his eyes wide with fear, his hands trembling a bit. Nevertheless, he quickly takes the chip I’ve dug out of the palm of the SD’s hand, and plugs it into a compinset. It beeps once, quietly, and then he aims it at the doors. As soon as the doors shush open, Yolande and Tamarindus quickly move the bodies inside.

They stash the limp forms in behind a pillar wider than I am tall; a series of these mammoth columns leads toward another set of doors. We can hear voices, and snarls, from within. My hair stands up on the back of my neck in reaction to the blast of unregulated pheromones coming from the room—and I hear Gwen’s voice, picking it out of several others, raised in vicious argument. Yolande signals the others—the humans and Yannan, the servus we brought with us—to stand back. Then the four of us—Tamarindus, Yolande, Emily and myself—hurry forward, toward the arguments and Gwen.

“I will not surrender the right to rule my Archonate with my rules, as long as they serve the best interests of the Race. And no one can accuse me of doing anything detrimental to the Race, not in my over 500 years!” Gwen’s voice, ringing like a bronze bell, greets us. Emily reaches into her satchel and pulls out something that looks a lot like Gwen’s little “notebook”; it’s credit-card-sized and featureless. Motioning for Yolande and Tamarindus to stand back, she slides it into the room on the floor.

There’s a moment’s silence, no longer than a sneeze, and then several voices cry out at once. I can’t make out individual words, but one comes through: “Samothracian!” Then there are crashing noises, and a howl of pain that seems to emanate from several throats at once, and then thuds…I notice Yolande holding her head with both hands, and Tamarindus doesn’t look so good herself. I walk toward Yolande, and all of a sudden I feel awful, like someone’s pounding on my skull with a hammer. My knees buckle, and I feel someone pulling me back away from the door.

“Erin, jeezie petes, I didn’t think about it—I’ll have to go in and get her. You can’t, and neither can Tamarindus or Yolande. And it only lasts a little while…” Emily sits me down on the marble floor, and I nod, weakly. We were in such a hurry, we didn’t think about the slight complication we’ve run into. Shawonda hurries over, her medpack in hand. 

“I’ll get her back on her feet, girl, you and Patrick go get Gwen. Mary, pull Yolande over here, quick, now!” Shawonda’s voice has the crack of a doctor in an ER, giving orders and expecting to be obeyed immediately. I feel something cold against the side of my neck, and choke a little as electricity, seemingly, is run through my veins. Shawonda pats me gently and moves on to Yolande.

I stand up, slowly, shaking my head. Tamarindus gets the treatment last, as Patrick and Emily come out of the room, lugging Gwen between them. I gasp, in shock, seeing blood trickling down over her lips, but Patrick smiles. “It’s okay, Ma, she just busted her nose. In fact, it’s probably started healing itself by now…” They set her down, and Shawonda gives her the injection that she gave to Yolande, Tamar, and me earlier.

“We can’t wait very long—it won’t last very long, and then it self-destructs. Come on, Gwen, wake up!” Emily says, wiping drops of perspiration from her forehead.

Gwen’s head snaps up, and her hands close around…thin air. I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, and pull Patrick and Emily out of her reach. Her eyes aren’t very focused, but she recognizes me. “Gods above, my head…Erin??”

“Muhmis, can you stand? Can you walk? Come on, we don’t have much time.” I stand her up, supporting her with one arm around her waist. “Yannan, call the ships. Have them close, quickly! The front entrance would be fastest.” 

He nods, pale-faced—this must all be terribly shocking for him, I realize—and talks quietly into his compinset. Shawonda and Mary help Yolande up, and Patrick helps Tamarindus. If my lack of foresight has doomed us, I think, I’ll kick my own butt before I buy it, just because I was stupid and forgot if we’re using something to discombobulate Draka, it’s going to do that to me, and to our friendly Draka, too, not just the unfriendly ones.

We hurry down the hallway, passing the displays and their posed humans without a second glance. Soon, Gwen’s able to walk on her own, and Yolande and Tamarindus seem to be almost fully recovered. We make good time, and don’t happen to run into anyone else until we get to the front doors. Yannan is pushing his little cart as fast as it will go; its override warning is plinking patiently, but he ignores it. A Draka woman, wearing a flowing off-the-shoulder Grecian gown, stops him and begins to chastise him for using equipment in such a fashion.

“What do you think you’re doing, buck?”

He turns absolutely white, and tries to speak. Nothing emerges. Yolande waves the rest of us on, and turns back to save the Servus. I hear quiet conversation, and then a flurry of meaty thuds—and then Yolande and Yannan rejoin us. Yolande’s left arm hangs at an odd angle, and her face has some scratches on it, but she grins and motions for us to get outside.

Bystanders are dumbfounded to see us scamper out of the Archonal Palace, and not a few, I’m sure, have keyed for Security’s presence. The cloaked Samothracian ships set down almost on top of us, uncloaking visuals for a few seconds. Hatches have dialed open before the ships tenderly touch the ground, and we leap inside. Tamarindus takes her team: Emily, Yannan, and Shawonda; Patrick, Mary and I join Yolande and Gwen in the other ship. I notice Yannan has hung onto his cart, too…

“Just lay down on the floor…” calls the pilot. “We’re cloaking, and then getting the hell out of here.”

“We’ve corrupted them, Muhmis,” I murmur, as gravity presses us against the deck briefly. “We’ve done it…”

“What?” Gwen looks over at me with a smile. “What are you babbling about, my wench?”

“We’ve got the Samothracian pilots cussin’…that’s what…” I smile. As soon as we can, we sit up and then climb into the shock couches. I key the pilot: “Are we headed toward the mole hole?”

“Yes, ma’am. Alexandra’s in the lead; she’ll touch down briefly, and—damn!” A bolt of lightning, seemingly, flashes past us, and I hear a dull boom. “They’re shooting down their own ships—they’re shooting anything that flies, and that they can see. Praise Jesus, we’re cloaked. I hope it holds up—there goes another one! Man!”

“Is Alexandra here?” Gwen asks.

“Yes, ma’am, but she’s lead pilot in the other ship, the USS Washington. I’m Kenneth Turner, lieutenant, USS Jefferson. We’re flying to the mole hole site, where Alexandra’s going to touch down briefly, and open the mole hole for us. Then we’ll go through…and what happens after that, God only knows. I sure don’t.” The pilot chuckles, and turns back casually to flying his ship through blasts of debris and energy bolts from the orbital battle stations. I watch out the portholes, and the Draka are indeed shooting down anything that they can see; I watch four aircars and a cruiser downed in the space of five minutes. 

“Half-way there, Gwen,” I finally say. Her hand closes over mine and squeezes gently.

“My saafn…I should have known you’d disobey me, and come here anyway…thanks, darlin’,” she whispers, leaning over to kiss me firmly on the mouth. Finally breaking away, she grins. “But you’ll have an account to settle, vixen.”

“Fine by me, as long as you’re the one to settle it, not Felice Vashon.” I make a face. “You know, she makes the Bugs look nicer.”

“I can’t disagree there,” Gwen says, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger of her free hand. There’s a popping noise, and I scrunch my eyes shut for a second. When I open them, she’s grinning at me, and wiping the dried blood away from her nose. “Good as new.”

“Ow!” I commiserate. The ship bounces a little, and the pilot warns us to be strapped in. He begins the descent toward the mole hole, Alexandra’s ship in the lead.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter 20

**  
The ship jolts suddenly, and the pilot’s doing more than cussing…he’s moaning. I scramble up to the cabin, and look inside. The smell of burning circuitry hits me, and I’m immediately transported over fifty years back in time, and to another universe…the sinking of the USS Nimitz. The smell’s the same… the sounds are the same. I move instinctively, pulling the pilot away from his console as Alexandra takes over the controls.

“Get him out of here.” Her voice is cool. “We’re going in for a landing, by the mole hole facility. Tell the others to strap in, tight.”

“Yes, Uhmis.” I drag the Samothracian pilot from his seat; his body’s heavy, unconscious. Blood spatters my face as I hug him to my chest, pulling him backwards from the cabin. “Everybody, sit down, strap in. We’re landing, and Alexandra’s piloting.” The words strike me as funny, and I chuckle to myself. “If it’s anything like her driving an aircar, we’re in for a few bumps, aren’t we, Muhmis?”

Gwen takes the limp body from my arms like she’s picking up a baby. “Yes, so follow your own directions, and take a seat.” She straps the bloody-faced man into a seat himself, and leaps across the cabin, now filling with acrid smoke, to land in her seat beside me. “Leave it to you to remember that vacation,” she murmurs in my ear. “The one on Prime Line, at the living museum?”

“Yeah, that one!” I grin at her through the smoke. “Hope Alexa’s a better pilot than a driver.”

“Oh, she is, I have no doubt of that—” Gwen’s voice is cut off in the mad, crunching, tearing sound that fills the cabin. We’re landing, or something close to it. The ship shakes like a rat in a terrier’s mouth, there are thuds, and unrecognizable sounds, and then silence.

Coughing, I sit up. The ship’s cushioning system worked well, and I only have what feels like a total body bruise. Gwen’s hands touch my harness, then my face, gently but urgently. “Erin?” I nod, and touch her hand with mine.

“Out! Unstrap, and out. Now!” She tugs at the reinforced webbing, and it parts like tissue paper under her fingers. “I’ll get the others out. Move!”

I scramble towards the lightest area of smoke, and find an escape hatch open. All this time, the memories of the Nimitz have been threatening to overwhelm me, and I find my hands shaking uncontrollably as I pull myself out of the hatchway. I find myself standing on the side of the ship, and look up to see the companion to our own Samothracian vessel hovering protectively above us. Blasts of power weapons slice through the air, like lightning, and I wince, watching them.

Yolande pulls herself out, and then reaches down to yank Mary out. Patrick follows, getting a huge boost from someone down below. Mary’s dazed, her face a mask of red. I take Pat by the arm, and yell into his ear, “Take charge of Mary. She’s in shock. Try to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, Ma!” He puts a strong arm around the young woman, and pulls her away from the hatch. Smoke, darker now, is pouring out. Where’s Gwen? Where’s Alexandra, and the Samo pilot? I go to dive back inside, and Yolande stops me.

“Wait. They’re coming.”

“How do you know? They might need help…” I push against her arm, which is as useful as pushing against a steel beam. But I do it anyway.

“Get over there on the ground, with your cub. And the other wench. Now.” Yolande’s voice is flat, calm, cool and collected. She follows her orders to me with a shove. I stumble backwards, almost losing my footing on the smooth side of the ship.

“Damn you, Gwen might need help…you’re just going to wait there? Hell if I will!” I make a running dive at the hatchway. Yolande’s hands catch me as I begin to go down, and yank me right back out again. A fist slams into my midsection, hard. Draka-hard. The world goes quiet for a little bit…

When I come back to myself, I’m stretched out on the burnt slag of our landing area. Gwen’s standing next to me, talking quietly but intensely with Yolande. The others…I crane my head, looking around. Alexandra is kneeling by Mary’s side; the human girl’s white as snow except where she’s bloody. Patrick looks concerned. The Samothracian pilot’s lying next to Mary. 

“We have to trigger the mole hole and get through before they blast the seven hells out of this place. I don’t have time to worry about insolence from a serf right now. We’ll deal with that…later. Ah, Erin. Good. Get up, we have to get going.” Gwen holds out a hand, to pull me up. Yolande snarls and stalks away, over to the others. She picks up the unconscious Samothracian pilot, slinging him over one shoulder.

“Time’s burning. Let’s go.” Yolande seems to be talking to herself, but I know she’s talking to Gwen. I feel Gwen’s muscles stiffen a bit—anger—and watch as her eyes dilate wider than they are already. Inside, fear rides a roller coaster with fury; I shake my head to clear the cobwebs. It doesn’t help much, but anything’s better than this fuzzy feeling I have between my ears.

“Muhmis, I’m sor—”

Gwen cuts me off brusquely. “Time enough for that later. I’m not worrying about it now. Let’s move.” She squeezes my hand once, and then leads the way toward the complex of buildings nearby.

The area seems deserted, but even I can sense that it’s not. The three Draka spread out, waving us back; Patrick takes the Samo pilot, and I’m holding Mary. The other Samo ship is nearby, floating just above a range of oaks in the near distance. It’s suddenly gone, and I gasp for a moment, feeling my guts turn to ice. But then Patrick murmurs, “Camo! Really good masking.”

“Yeah, thank god for that,” I mutter. I must be getting tired…I should have thought of that myself, I murmur to myself. Goofball. Shifting the young woman to my other shoulder, I follow the three Draka; my son follows me. One arm around the dangling legs of the pilot, he’s drawn his pistol from its holster on his hip, and he warily covers our rear.

There’s a sudden flurry of movement ahead; several Draka have seemingly risen from the bare earth itself and thrown themselves at our Draka. The fight is silent except for huffs of breath and muted growls; a short ululating scream ends the conflict. Yolande and Gwen are unmarked; Alexandra wipes blood from her lips and rises from a twitching body. They wave us forward, and we enter the shadow of the buildings themselves.

The trees nearby have been frizzled by the crash we just went through, but the low-slung, pretty brick buildings are in good shape. Windows have been broken, and my feet scrunch through shards of glass as we move toward the center hall. There’s a flash, and a crack of noise, all at the same time. Patrick thuds into me, and all four of us—the pilot, Patrick, Mary and I—fall to the ground in a jumble of humans. 

“Aaaahh…shit. Damn! My leg! Damn! Gods be triple-damned and fu…um, sorry, Ma. I’ve been shot.” Patrick looks up into my face, almost sheepishly. “It’s okay. I can walk. I think.”

“We need Shawonda and her miracle medpack, is what we need. It’s okay, Patrick. But I don’t think our Samo friend here is getting up again,” I say, as I take Patrick’s pistol. “He’s dead, damn it. Here, start pulling Mary toward the Draka…our Draka…and I’ll cover us. Go!”

“Okay, Ma. You know how to use that…okay. Okay. You do. I can see that. Come on, Mary, let’s go, old girl…” Patrick babbles, pulling the dazed girl along with him, as he inches toward safety. I spare them one more glance, and then decide to take out our little sniper friend myself.

Creeping forward, on my hands and knees, one hand holding the slim, almost palm-shaped pistol Patrick’s been using, I keep my right side to the brick wall. At the corner, where Pat and the poor Samo pilot were shot, I freeze and count to ten. A cascade of thoughts goes running through my mind…playing “army” with neighborhood kids when I was little; my first kiss; the Nimitz; Peter and I on the beach at Andros. Patrick’s birth. The idea that someone just blew a hole through my kin—my child—makes me hugely angry… I growl, but stifle it, and, taking a deep breath—I really don’t want to be here—I move.

Skittering across the yard, I use all my enhanced speed and agility to make it to the nearest building. I burst my way through the door, and movement inside makes my arm swing over to the right, to the shadows. My finger starts to contract, to fire the weapon, but something makes me hesitate. A whimper from the corner…a flash of bright clothing…

A Servus wench and her child, cowering in the darkness. Apparently she didn’t get to the shelters they must have, I think. I force myself to lower the weapon, and that’s when the child squeaks out, “Oh! Oh!”

The wall beside me disappears in dust, flame, and smoke; a large hole appears next to me. Instinctively, I throw myself to the floor and roll rapidly to my left. While I’m rolling, I’m aiming at what my transducer tells me is the most probable location of the shot. I fire, several times, spreading them out. I hope I’m not hitting any innocent Servus, but at the moment, all that matters is stopping whoever’s trying to kill me.

Silence reigns. Then I hear the soft sound of crying…the Servus. And a scratching sound… I crawl over to where the mysterious sound is coming from, and peer over the wreckage in front of me. That’s almost the last thing I do; as it is, I’m stunned when a fist slaps me upside the head. I drop back to the floor, and shoot point blank into the debris in front of me. There’s a fountain of red, and a short scream; I realize I’ve just killed my first Draka. At the moment, I’m too busy trying to spit out blood that’s all over my face, my lips… I don’t think about what I just did. 

The Servus certainly thinks about it. “Nooooo!!! Muhmis! Muhmis!” The woman hurls herself at me, eyes blank and wide. “You killed her! No! Muhmis, no!” She tries to hit me, ineffectually pummeling my chest with her hands. “No,” she sobs hysterically, “No, not Muhmis!” Her baby wails along.

I push her off me. “I killed her because she shot my son.” Inside, in some far corner of my mind, the circle appears—the Servus’ grief, my grief…when does it end? I shake my head, clearing it. The Servus wench cowers on the floor, shaking, sobbing, talking to herself. Great, now what do I do, I think to myself. I shove the pistol into my belt, and look around. Apparently this was a dwelling of some sort…are there more snipers?

“Erin! Are you…ah. Ah.” Gwen climbs into the room, her eyes wide in the gloom. She takes in the scene with a practiced, calm eye; the only thing that shocks her, I think, is that I, a human, just killed a Draka. “Come on, we’re in. We’ve got to hurry, Erin.”

“But…what do we do about…” I gesture towards the smoking pile of rubble. A hand, fingers curled in death, protrudes from it. I’m reminded of the fragments of statuary I’ve seen in museums. The hand could be that of a goddess, or a nymph. Blood trickles down, into the palm, and from there to the floor. I’ve had my fill of blood today, I think, and shudder.

“Come on. They’ll be taken care of. And…well. We’ll talk about this more, if we survive. No time now. Come.” Gwen takes my hand, and pulls me from the room. The sound of hopeless sobbing follows us down the path. I see a trail of crimson, where Patrick must have been pulling himself and Mary along; it ends abruptly by a doorway. We duck inside.

Several Draka, some grievously wounded, stand or sit, bristling, wide-eyed and ready for a fight. Servus technicians are tremblingly obeying Yolande’s orders, and I hear the soft hum of incredibly powerful machinery about to open a doorway between worlds. Yolande turns as Gwen brings me into the room, and a corner of her lip raises in a snarl. But her voice is calm: “We’re almost ready.”

“Good. Have the Samo ship in position; let it hover low enough for us to board, and then we’ll be out of here. Are you all sure you want to throw your lot in with me?” Gwen turns to face the gathered Draka, and I feel the force of her will flaring out, like a tsunami. Even Yolande looks impressed. The others nod, and agree.

“Better you than that bitch Vashon and her cronies.”

“I’ll serve you as Archon; I did before. You’re fair, at least.”

“Let’s go. I want a chance at a planet, not a chance at a Security Directorate pill.”

Gwen nods, taking each of their glances in turn. “Good. You’ll have your planet, Beatrice, and more. All of you will.”

One man, missing most of his legs and one arm, speaks up. “You’ll need someone to make sure nothing’s turned off half-way through. I’ve some scores to settle with the Vashons. They killed my son. I’m not going anywhere. You all know that. I’m the weakest. I’ll stay.”

“Tyr, no! We won’t leave any of you for them. You’re coming with us. We can do this, people. Get the wounded outside—they’ll load first. Use the floaters if that helps.”

There’s a concerted effort on the group’s part, and within moments, all the wounded are placed on floaters, and the rest of us gather around them. “Muhmis, what happened to these folks?” I ask, putting my hand on her arm for a moment. “How’d they get so…chewed up?”

“They’re loyal to me. They fought with the other Citizens here…here in the facility. That’s one reason it was so damned quiet when we came in. They weren’t sure if we were SD, I guess. They had quite a little row here, and these are the survivors. They knew that a few of the supporters of the new power clique had hidden, and apparently you found one. And killed her.” Gwen picks me up under the arms and hoists me onto a floater. Alexandra catches me and steadies me.

“Let me stay and help you,” I protest. Gwen shakes her head no.

“I’ll be right along, don’t worry. The Servus will stay at their stations, I’m sure of it, but I want to offer any of them asylum, too, that want it. The Samo ship’s hovering low enough to load, and I want to start that immediately.”

The floater moves away, leaving me to snarl in frustration. I should be at her side, dammit, not riding about on some floater. Alexandra strokes my back for an instant. “Erin, please. Calm down. Ma will be all right. I need your help loading folks.”

“Okay, Alexa. Okay.” The Samo ship hovers nearby, and the floaters hurry to its side, lining up to load people into the open hatchway gleaming in the sunlight. The sun’s about to set, and I realize we’ve been doing this all day, or so it seems. 

As I help the wounded onto the ship, I wonder about something. “Alexa, why haven’t they just torched this whole place? I mean, with the orbitals?”

“They don’t want to lose the facility. Plus,” Alexandra says as she smoothly hands the last wounded Draka off to the ship, “I think Felice wants blood. Gwen’s blood, yours, certainly. She wants it in the most personal manner possible, Erin. So they’re coming, and we just have to get out before they get here. It’s a matter of time.” She looks over my shoulder and grins. “Here comes Ma, with a load of Servus.”

I turn to look, and see that Gwen has several Servus on the floater with her, most crouching down on the floor of the craft, not looking over the edges. I can understand why; she’s flying the thing like a bat out of hell. I can see her grin, though, and warmth washes through me, leaving me feeling weak in the knees. “Come on, Gw…” I stutter, remembering halfway through I’m not supposed to call her by her given name unless we’re in private. Oh, hell. I’ve done so many things today, what difference does it make? “Come on, Gwen!”

Alexandra looks at me out of the corner of her eye, and then smiles broadly. “Yeah, come on, you old slow coach! The train’s a’leavin’…” Then Alexandra picks me up, tosses me on board the Samo ship, and climbs aboard herself. Our floater is bumped rudely out of the way by Gwen’s arrival.

Over the horizon, I see black shapes—sleek, slender floaters—speeding toward us. Overhead, there’s a huge noise—even the flight deck of the Nimitz wasn’t that loud, I think—and a shimmering wall of what looks like mercury appears. Gwen tosses the last of the Servus aboard, and starts to board, herself. She hesitates…and then climbs back down, onto the floater. I look on in horror, and in sneaking admiration, as she draws her layer knife.

“Please, Gwen, no…” I whisper. “Please, we’re so close…”

“I’ll be back,” she says, quite calmly, and then she’s off, using the floater like a charging horse under a knight of old. The flicker of ruby sunlight on her layer knife is the only hint she’s charging armed. The on-coming floaters slow, and spread, seeming to envelop her. Oh, God, Gwen, no…

“I call challenge!” Her voice rises clear and elfin, but fey, above the canopy of oaks. “I call challenge, Felice Vashon. I tread your name into the mud. You’re a coward, and an inhospitable host. I call challenge upon you, as is my right.”

The floaters come up short, and I can hear the Draka arguing. “She’s a traitor, Archon. She has no rights,” yells one man, pulling out a pistol. Several others bay their agreement.

“No! No!” booms a voice. They’re using Command on each other, I realize in amazement. Not on serfs, but on each other. “No!”

Gwen’s floater slews to a stop in the middle of the group. “I call challenge, you bitch,” she says, quite conversationally, to a woman on a floater at the front of the group.

“Then challenge you shall have, ancient one. By the way, here’s something you might like to have,” answers Felice Vashon. She tosses a basketball-sized object onto Gwen’s floater. Beside me, I hear Alexandra hiss, and I try to see what it is, not really wanting to know, but needing to. It’s too indistinct, even with my enhanced vision; twilight is beginning to fall, and I can’t make out what the object is. Until, that is, I hear Gwen whisper:

“Oh, my Alexis. Oh, all the gods be damned.”

The woman facing her laughs, shrilly. “He seems to have lost not only his seat as Archon, but his head over the matter. He always was a bit flighty. But that’s not surprising, looking at the rotten, putrid stock he came from…” She guns her floater forward, and the other Draka back off, forming a ring.

The two floaters, and the women on them, jockey for position for long moments, subtle moves, shifting stances. Felice has what appears to be a long, thin sword and a short dagger in her hands. Gwen holds the layer knife low, with her left hand, down by her thigh. Occasionally, the dying embers of the sun make the weapons glint, and the women’s eyes glint, too, as the sun sets. There’s a stifling silence to the waiting, and I feel like I could scream.

Felice charges, her floater about even with Gwen’s. For a brief moment, there’s a shhhnnnngg of metal against metal, and then the women part again, Gwen shifting the layer knife to her right hand. With her left, she dabs at her face. I can’t see well enough to see how badly she’s wounded, but the fact that she is makes my blood boil. I clench my fists and whine with frustration, as Alexandra growls beside me.

The second charge is from Gwen’s side…the floaters bang together, and I notice Felice stumble slightly before she rights the craft and herself, cat-agile. The blades flicker together and apart, with little or no noise but the breathing of the two fighters. Then the floaters part…but this time, Gwen’s on Felice’s floater. They grapple together, struggling for the upper hand. Gwen’s got Felice’s dagger hand in her left, forcing it out and down, while Felice has Gwen’s layer knife pressed down with her long, thin sword. 

There’s a small snapping noise, and the sword Felice is holding looks much shorter all of a sudden. The floater teeters one way and then another, not under complete control of anyone. Felice moves down and backwards, and Gwen follows, losing her grip on the dagger hand. It moves like lightning, and stabs the short blade into Gwen’s thigh. I hear the deep, guttural growling rumbling from Gwen’s chest pause for a moment, and then watch as, ignoring the blade in her leg as Felice twists it cruelly, Gwen kicks the other woman in the chest, knocking her to her back.

Before Felice can rise, Gwen slices past the broken sword in the other woman’s hand, into her neck. Felice gurgles, horribly, and then, like a monster in a movie, actually tries to rise up against the blade, to regain her feet. The short length of sword she has left stabs upward, into Gwen’s chest. Gwen gasps, pulling back, but plants her feet firmly. With one hand, she yanks the blade from her ribcage, and slams her own knife back down into the by-now crouching Felice’s neck.

“Aiaiaiaiaiaieeeeee!” Gwen’s scream fills the night air. The layer knife does its work, slicing through Felice’s skin, muscle, and bone like a hot knife through butter. The woman’s head jerks spasmodically and I can hear the air gushing out of her lungs, out of the open maw of her throat. The head falls backward, horribly, against her spine, and the body droops loosely against the floorboard of the floater.

The Draka are silent now, waiting. Gwen slowly stands upright, one hand to her chest. She flicks her knife arm from side to side, a motion I know from long hours of watching her practice her art. She’s flicking blood from the blade. She clears her throat, and then says, “A head for a head. I called challenge, I won. I’m leaving now. If, in time, you want to contact me again, do so through the Samothracians.”

There’s a murmur of hatred at the name, and I feel a hand on my back. “They really do hate us, don’t they?” asks Emily. She’s joined us at the hatch.

I nod. “These do.”

“Shh!” whispers Alexandra, and we both nod.

“Yes, through the Samothracians. You’ll have to deal with them here, just as I’ve dealt with them in my time line. On my planet. In my universe. For it is mine—my universe to claim. I do so. I’m through with you here. Those of you who wish to join my way—contact the Samothracians. We’ll work something out.” She suddenly crouches, as a floater approaches her. “Must I fight and kill all of you?”

“No,” answers a man. He floats closer to Gwen. “No, even though you’ve killed my great aunt. Even though I’m a Vashon, and curse your family name. No. You called challenge, she took it, you won. Now get out. You’ll never reclaim the Archonate here, so go play house in your little world. Much good it may do you…”

Overhead, the silvery wall of light is flickering, shimmering. The amount of power it must be taking to hold it open this long, I think, is huge. Really frighteningly huge. I don’t think this is a very safe place to be…is he holding her attention, hoping the energy reserves will fail? Come on, Gwen, let’s go, I pray. Let’s go, now while the getting’s good.

Gwen wipes the blade of her layer knife along one leg and then sheaths it. “You have options. All of you on the Net know it. You know what to do. Goodbye.” She backs the floater away, never taking her eyes off the man who’s spoken to her.

“Good riddance, Samo-lover. Human-lover. Traitor.” His voice is filled with hatred, with… with fear, I realize. She’s different, and he’s frightened. Have to think about this more, later, I think, and file it away.

The floater smoothly glides up to the hatch, and Alexandra tugs her mother inside. “Go!!” Gwen yells, and the ship lurches. I lose my balance, but Gwen’s arm snakes around my waist as I stumble. The smell of blood is copper, I think, as she pulls me close. Like copper, or iron. Her lips find mine, and we kiss, long and deep. As our lips meet, the ship transits, and the sensation of coldness, the feeling of falling an impossibly long way, runs through me. Combined with the thrill of holding the woman I’ve chosen to love, it’s certainly a novel feeling. Soon after comes the rush—the full body rush of knowing you’re alive, when you didn’t expect to be…

The crowded ship isn’t private, but Gwen and I don’t care. I wrap my arms around her neck, and devote myself to her for long moments, shutting out the rest of the world. Her walking blacks are slick against me, with her blood, but the wounds are already sealing, healing. Her hands stroke through my hair, down the back of my neck, my back…caressing, fondling. She breaks the kiss for a moment, whispering into my ear, “I love you, sweetlin.” I nod, unable to speak. She looks into my eyes, and reads the message there. It’s all she needs.

We’re there—we’re home. The ship sighs to a soft three-point landing, and I feel the air warming as the hatches dial open. I step back, and look at Gwen’s face, blood- and gore-spattered, but the face of the woman I love. The woman I’d risk my life for—I grin. “You’re a mess, honey.”

“You don’t look too great yourself, my saucy little wench,” she laughs. The people around us—Draka, human, and Servus—laugh, too, with the relief of being home safe. A new home for some, a return home for others, but a relief no matter what. 

Thinking about that makes me realize the loss we’ve suffered, and I turn to Emily. “I’m sorry, Em, about the pilot. About losing Ken Turner. I’m sorry…”

“I know. I know, Erin, it’s…we knew there could be losses. He was a good man, a brave one. It’s… it’ll be okay.” She hugs me tight.

“I’m sorry as well.” Gwen offers the Samothracian her hand. Emily looks surprised for a moment, and then takes Gwen’s hand in hers.

“Thank you, Archon. I thank you for my people. It was a joint effort—human, Servus, and Draka—and it worked. Like I said, we all knew there could be casualties.”

“You’re damn lucky you didn’t get shish kebabed, Gwen,” Tamarindus says, putting a supporting arm around Gwen’s waist. “She did get you a couple of times.”

“Yes, but I got her, too.” The wolf-grin Gwen gives her best friend reminds me that no matter what, the Draka are predators. Hunters. “I took a head for a head.”

“Let’s get everyone to the medical clinic, Muhmis, and we’ll go from there.” Shawonda stands in front of us, her brown eyes steady. “I see several people who could use a checkup.”

“Indeed. Yes, having the auxiliary heart working is…unusual-feeling, to say the least,” Gwen says quietly. I almost faint. She notices, and reaches out to me. “I’ll be fine, Erin. It will be a few days before my usual heart is ready to go back on-line, though.”

Yolande’s standing off to one side, as the crowded ship empties. The wounded are hurriedly carted off to the medical clinic, and the rest of us sort of tag along. I’ve noticed Yolande’s attitude, certainly, but I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe time will help, I console myself. I don’t know how to work with her on this. But at least we could work together to save Gwen.

I check on Patrick and Mary; the medtechs tell me they’ll be fine, given some rest and a bit of rebuilding. I’ve become so used to the biotechnology that their phrases don’t even make me raise an eyebrow, I think to myself, as I sink into a chair in Gwen’s office. It’s quiet here, and I need time to decompress. Gwen was getting a checking-over from Shawonda and the medcomp the last time I saw her, so I should have time to myself for a bit.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the back of the chair. Lordy me, what a day. What a day.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter 21

**  
Closing the mole hole between Prime Line and our time line was easy, I think, as I walk from the building behind Gwen. She’s got several high-ranking Draka around her, and they’re animatedly discussing how to divvy up the universe. I don’t pay much attention until I hear my name being mentioned. 

“…Erin’s got some planning reports on that—projections—estimates. We’ll use those as a basis, and go from—”

“Why depend on what a human’s done, Gwen? We can do our own analyses, and it won’t set us back that much in terms of time. It’s high time the Race started…”

“What? Started what?” Gwen’s voice has suddenly gone very cold.

The young Draka stops walking and faces her, his ears flattening against his skull, his hair beginning to bristle. “Started planning for ourselves, and started putting the humans in their places. As our saafn. That’s where they belong.”

Alois speaks up from the back of the group, meanwhile eyeing me. Almost imperceptibly, he waves a hand my way, gesturing: stay back. “We use the skills of all our saafn—human, Servus, kawtuh—to do a lot of things. They’re not just for pleasure. They’re the tools that think. We must remember that, Harris.”

“Yes, but…”

Gwen cuts him off. “If you feel that the only place a human can serve you is a mounting position, perhaps you should have stayed on Prime Line.”

“I’m not saying that they can’t…”

“Listen. All of you, listen. These are glorious times for the Race. We have a whole universe—in fact, we have multiverses open to us now—but we must use our resources wisely. That includes humans. It includes our own people. I’m not saying humans are our equals—they’re not. But we must begin to think of them as more than just toys. I have been very pleased and impressed by the service my humans have provided me, and even that from the Samothracians.” Gwen looks around her, eyes wide, alert. “They are our allies. I want them to stay that way, at least for now. We aren’t numerous enough to take them on with a good chance to win. You all know that.”

The Servus and human servants who’ve been following us hear the end of that statement, and suddenly all of them decide to wait several yards away. Wise, I think. But I’m not known for that kind of wisdom. I want to hear more, so I step closer, slowly.

Gwen continues: “We have a chance here to develop our strengths, our power base—our spread throughout this universe. I will not allow anyone to short-circuit that process. Is that clear? I want support; I appreciate your support, but I will not waste resources. Any resources. It’s too critical a moment in the history of our Race. Does everyone understand me?”

Various murmurs of agreement, and a few nods, greet her. Harris stands, though, hands on hips, glaring at Muhmis. “I meant… I meant…” There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his upper lip; his eyes dilate even further as Gwen moves closer to him. He stutters for a moment, and then clears his throat with a low growl. “I meant no disrespect, Archon.”

“I know you didn’t, Harris. You’re young, and you’ve been raised Prime Line. Things are different here. You’ll learn, over time. Be patient. Talk with my son, Alois—he can give you a few pointers. Meanwhile, no offense taken. I value your ideas, youngling.” Gwen smiles down at him, from inches away, and even though her verbal message is reassuring, her physical presence is telling him that she’s the alpha in this bunch, and he better remember it. I think he will, I muse to myself, watching his body language. I think he will.

Gwen turns to me, the odd half-smile still haunting her lips. “Those reports, Erin…”

“Yes, Muhmis the Archon. I’ll have them prepared and put on the web immediately.” I bow, and her smile widens.

“Good.” She turns to the others, tossing her braid of hair over one shoulder. “Thank you all for attending our little shut-down ceremony; the beacon won’t be reanimated until or unless we hear something from Admiral Packard’s staff. They are the only contact between Prime Line and here and now; please don’t try to bypass that. My policies are clear—this is our time line, ours and our children’s. For eternity!”

They bay like wolves—the hair stands up on my neck—and the Servus behind me immediately go to their lowest bowing position. I kneel, and watch the Draka as they cheer for their new Archon, and celebrate their new home. Gwen brings more cheers, and randy comments, when she announces a feast to be held in three days to celebrate this new adventure.

**

“Here, Jenny, this is the last one. Muhmis just okay’d it, so it’s ready to go. How’s the rest coming?” I sit on the edge of Jennifer’s desk, and watch her face.

“Fine! We’re already caught up, and this one won’t take but a few moments to post. You’ve done most of the work, with all these analyses. I’m impressed.” She smiles at me, teeth white in the olive tan of her face. Her thick curly black hair is brushed back, but errant curls peek out from around the rainbow-colored band holding her hair.

“Good. Then, if you don’t need me, I think I’m going to go relax for a bit.” I stand up and stretch.

“Want some company?” She raises an eyebrow, and her smile changes from friendly to frisky.

I blush. “Nah… I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but… that’s not what I had in mind. May I take a rain check, madam?”

“Certainly.” She stands up and hugs me suddenly, almost catching me off balance. “It’s okay. But I just wonder…”

“What?”

“If you like me the same way—I mean, you used to, you know, enjoy…well. Us. But since the… since I was… um…”

I sigh. Might as well be honest and hit the nail on the head, old girl. Do it. “Since you were resurrected, I haven’t really wanted to sleep with you. I’m sorry. A lot has been happening, and I’ve been tired, and Muhmis has been her usual horny self, and…”

“Are you not attracted to me anymore, Erin?” Her voice is soft, and she cups my chin in her hand. “Not at all?”

“It’s not that, Jennifer! My god, you’re beautiful. And sexy. But…” I shrug. “It’s an adjustment. I knew the Jennifer before. You may not remember all of her. I do. It’s hard to…think about, sometimes. I wonder if Gwen felt that way about Yolande? I mean, I like you a lot, but you’re just…different. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just…hard to deal with sometimes.” I move back, away from her eyes and her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I just want you to know I really like you, and I’d like to share that with you. But if you need time, that’s fine. I understand. I’m happier now than I was before, but you’re right. I’m not the same person. Trying to align your thoughts with the new me, with your memories of the old me, must be a little painful at times. Try not to worry, Erin. You worry enough for ten people, I swear. We can talk about this later, too. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” I agree. Leaving Jennifer’s office, I think, man, that wasn’t fun. Not a conversation I ever thought I’d have to have, either. The world just gets stranger and stranger sometimes… Closing the door softly behind me, I walk down the wide marble-paved corridor to my suite of rooms. The Draka insist on large rooms, with windows, unless they’re planning on using the room for entirely personal use. Then, as with Gwen’s library or her bedroom, the room is still large, but secure. If there are windows, they’re reinforced with memet, I think. They like feeling secure in their own beds. Partly historical artifact, partly instinct by now. Interesting.

I nod and smile to my staff as I walk through the outer offices, and finally get to my own. Setting a privacy code on the door, I sink into my leather chair behind my desk. Through my transducer, I order the flatscreens to go dormant, and my office is quiet for a few moments. Finally—some peace and quiet, and time to think. I’m more tired than I thought… All the events of the last few days rush through my head in a torrent, and I wonder what kind of sense I can make of them.

Using the alliance of Samothracian, human and Servus technology, and Draka strength, we managed to rescue Gwen. I think she would’ve been killed in the Archonal Palace, especially since Alexis was. But that didn’t happen; even though the Draka who work with Gwen were unwilling to see her die, they were also unwilling to just “let it happen”. But it took the technology of several different groups—with different purposes, sometimes—to coordinate the whole thing.

I had to release some of the technology I’ve been hoarding throughout the years, I think. Now the Draka know we can imitate transducers, and break their security codes. That can’t have made Schalk or even Gwen happy; I know for sure Yolande wasn’t thrilled. Tamarindus was more curious than bothered, but she’s the curious type. Even she had to admit we had managed to do things they didn’t think we could. So now we have these security problems…if that’s what you call them. I promised Gwen we wouldn’t use them right now—no faked transducers on this planet, for now—but how sure is she about my promise? Draka don’t trust easily.

Using the Samothracians could have created a huge political problem—the Prime Line Draka think we hijacked the Samo ships, with human Earth/2 pilots, perhaps—but even so, the repercussions were pretty severe. The Prime Line Draka won’t be happy talking to Samothracians for a long time, and I hope they don’t start the war all over again. They’re militant enough to do so, I think, but are they crazy enough? The Samos certainly prepared for all sorts of eventualities; they’ve got quite a few people here, and they’ve been using the mole hole technology to colonize other planets more rapidly than the Draka have been. Plus, they have the emigrants from here to boost their population.

So why are they bothering to be friendly to us? I wonder. One, they like the humans here. Two, they see a chance at peace, at least for a while, with the Earth/2 Draka. That gives them more time to prepare for any problems with the Prime Liners. More resources, more time, more… safety? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, I guess. I mean, there are actually some Samothracians who can say the word “Draka” without spitting now. That’s an improvement, I think wryly. A little one, but anything’s better than what they were like before…

How will Gwen respond to my undercover tech development? She hasn’t said much about it to me, not even when we’ve been alone in bed. Not that she’s given me much time for chit-chat while she’s had me in bed, I grin. I’ve been too busy doing other things. Lots of other things. Interesting things. I let my mind drift over that for a few moments…

There’s a muted “ding” from my transducer, dragging me away from remembering Gwen’s feather light fingertips stroking the insides of my thighs…over and over…I sigh, loosen my collar, and answer the prompt. “Yes?”

“Erin? It’s Emily…could I please talk with you?”

Well, I had a few minutes to myself, I think. Not much, but some is better than none. “Okay, come on in.” 

The door sighs open, and Emily walks into the room, a small book in her hand. The diary she told me about, I realize; Marya’s diary. “So, what’s up, chick?”

“Chick?” Emily asks, looking confused. 

“It means ‘girl’ or ‘wench’, silly. Sorry, using old Earth slang on you—wasn’t thinking. What’s that you have there?”

“It’s Marya’s diary, and I’ve found a part that’s keyed shut. It’s coded, and I could easily break it, but I wanted to ask you what we should do.”

“Let’s see…” I hold out my hand, and she places the book in it. Inside, on the left-hand leaf of the book, there’s a keypad; on the right-hand side, a screen. Words scroll by as I look at it, and then I reach an ending point. It’s highlighted with red, and says, “See note, 5-12-82.”

“The calendar’s over here,” Emily says, highlighting a section of the keypad. A calendar of sorts appears where the text was, and she points at the date. “Private, for Gwen only,” it reads. 

“Five-twelve… That’s Gwen’s birthday… ‘Private, for Gwen only’, though?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s weird. But in the open part of the text, she said she wrote a part of the diary that was only for Gwen to read, even though Gwen would probably never read it. Marya said it was something she had to do, though. I think it’s keyed to a favorite word or toy of Gwen’s, too; the prompt is right here.”

I look at the security password setup. “Yep. I guess we could ask her what her favorite toy was, when she was five years old. She’d be the only one…well, Yolande might know. Want to ask her, instead?”

“No! Do you?”

I grin at Emily. “I avoid Yolande, ever since she snarled at me on Prime Line. It’s for the best, right now. I’m a pesky human to her, and I wish I could move past that. But right now… no. I think we should go ahead and tell Gwen about it.”

“Is she ready for it?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure. Is anyone ready for a blast from the past like this? I don’t think you can be. But she’s certainly not upset about anything major right now, so maybe this is the right time.”

Emily smiles. “I like that ‘maybe’ in there. So who does it—you or me?”

“How about both of us?”

“Flirt!” She chuckles. “Or were you flirting?”

“Um…no. But I could see how you’d take it that way. No, let’s tell her about this here do-hickey together. You’re the one who inherited it, so to speak. I’m the one who has to live with Gwen after she reads it. So let’s deliver the news together. Capice?”

“Si, Bella Dona! Let’s do it,” Emily laughs. She takes the small book from my hands, closing it gently. “Let’s do it and be done. This should be interesting, if nothing else.”

“You may be a master of understatement, my dear,” I agree, as I stand. “A master of understatement.” 

**  
The afternoon sun beams into the room, lighting it with gold and orange. Gwen sits at her desk, looking out the open French windows, her gaze taking in far more than just her Landholding. I read her mood—pensive, but not annoyed—and quietly kneel by her chair, waiting. Long moments pass, but I’ve grown used to it by now—after all these years, I think, I should be used to it—and I hold my peace.

“Hmmm.” Her murmur startles me, even though I’ve been waiting patiently for some sign that she acknowledges me. Her hand slowly strokes through my hair, caressing it lovingly. “My sweet saafn…”

“Muhmis?”

Gwen sits up, uncrossing her long legs. Part of my mind watches as the muscles flow, thrilling me with her beauty, her strength, her cat-like agility. “So formal?”

“Sorry…didn’t know if I should be or not, so I went the safe way, Gwen. You were lost in your thoughts a long time…” I blush a little, and taking her hand, I kiss the palm, softly. “I didn’t want to presume.”

Her silken laughter fills the room. “You? Presume? How could I think you’d do such a thing as that?” Her voice becomes more serious: “You, who have killed a Citizen, who have managed to craft technology under the Yoke, who’s become one of the most powerful humans in the Domination? You?”

“Are you displeased with me, Gwen?” I look up into her face, hazel eyes meeting green ones.

She shakes her head no, and sighs. “Just getting…accustomed. Your underground technology development caught me off guard, and I don’t like that… not that I minded having a bit of help. But you’re going to have to be honest with me about things like that. I mean it.”

“I know.” The slight pressure of her hand on my chin signals for me to rise, and I do. I hold her hand in mine, and squeeze it slightly. “But you know we’re playing on the same side now, if you didn’t before.”

“Yes. There is that.” She grins, and pulls me onto her lap in a single smooth motion. “There is that…”

“Ow! Don’t bite…please. I wanted to ask if you…um…oh…” I succumb to her ministrations, for a few moments, before getting my composure back to some degree. “Please… I wanted to know if you’ve read the diary. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“You mean you and Emily want to know…” Gwen chuckles, her hands still caressing me, exploring, opening my tunic. The dark blue cloth falls away to the floor, and her fingertips trace patterns of desire across my breasts. “Don’t you?”

“Uh…oh, lordy…yes. I mean, yes to what you’re doing, and yes to my question.” I lace my fingers behind the Draka’s neck, and our lips meet. “But perhaps we should deal with matters…at hand…for the present…”

“Oh, I agree, my little human. I completely agree.” She picks me up with one arm, sweeps the desk clear with the other…and the afternoon passes.

**  
“So what did you think about the diary? Gwen?” I wash the soap out of my eyes as her hands rub my back rhythmically. The sauna/bathing room is warm, and I relax against her. “Or did you want to talk about it?”

“I found it…amusing. It made me nostalgic, I think. I always enjoyed Marya.” Her voice is muted in the showering water. “It was…interesting.”

“How do you feel about it? May I ask what she said in the part just for you?”

We sit back against the marble, warm from the sprays of water, and I run my fingers along her long, smooth, legs, feeling the muscle beneath like molten metal. Her hair, unbraided, floats in the water like shimmering strands of mahogany sunlight. Gwen sighs, and stretches her arms over the rim of the tub, leaning back, allowing me to snuggle.

“How do I feel about it? Nostalgic, as I said. It’s been over 400 years, and it was nice, in a way, to go back there. The part she wrote for me—well, that was a bit…sad. She explained that I was the only thing in the Domination she loved, which was nice, but then that she couldn’t love me completely, since I was a Draka. More along those lines, and how she wished I had been her “real” daughter. In freedom.”

“Oh.”

Gwen smiles, stroking a finger along my jaw line. “Yes. Oh. But thinking on it, she made the choice to survive. We’ve always given captured humans that choice—that decision to make. Serve and live, refuse and die. You made it—every human on this planet made it. Marya made it, when my mother took her. She could have chosen to die; it would have been easier in many ways. That’s one thing that I admire about the wench. She had…ah, what’s the colloquial expression…guts.”

I nod, waiting for her to go on.

“If you think, darlin’, that reading the diary of my brood mother would make me suddenly become guilt-ridden, morose, and more human, I…I don’t know you as well as I thought I did, if you thought that. Did you?”

“No, Gwen.”

“What did you think, pretty girl?”

I turn to face her. “I thought it might help you understand humans more. I thought it might make you consider the idea that humans don’t have to be serfs under you, that maybe they can be partners with you instead. I certainly didn’t think you’d snuffle and weep over the past. I know you better than that.”

“Yes…” She meets my eyes, leaf-green into hazel, a long, searching stare. “Ariadne? And May?”

“Partly.”

“We Draka live so long, my little human, that we have a very different perspective on these things. Different from yours, certainly. As for partners instead of serfs…no. That won’t happen. Ever. Do you understand me? Perhaps we’ll make some modified humans into Metic citizens, but their children will be Drakensis. Unmodified humans will always be serfs or ferals.”

“Why?”

She grins, wolf-like. “Because we like it that way. Because it makes logical sense, based on abilities and power. Because I will it to be so.”

I shudder, wishing I wouldn’t, but helpless. She feels it, and her nostrils flare slightly, taking my scent. “I know you don’t like it, Erin, but that’s the way life’s going to be.”

“Even though the Samos helped you…”

“Yes.” The brief frown on her face tells me she’s considering my emotional reaction, as well as my logical one. “I know this upsets you, or at least part of you. The logical part of your mind, Erin, has to be processing what I’ve said about Metics. The emotional part is yearning for…something it can’t have.”

“You’re right. As usual.” I try to smile, but my lip, much to my dismay, quivers alarmingly. I look away, trying to will the tears back inside.

“Ah, my saafn. So sad…shhhh. It’ll be all right, Erin, come here.” She pulls me to her, cradles me in her arms, and rocks me softly for a few moments, until I’ve regained control over myself. Her pheromones certainly didn’t hurt, either, I think to myself, careful not to subvocalize. They calmed me down as effectively, but more gently, than a bucket of cold water. They’re pretty multifaceted critters, those pheromones. Fear, dominance, lust, love, liking, caring…

“Better?”

“Yes, Muhmis. Sorry.”

“I understand. Even though you’re broken to me, I know you still have your moments. That’s all right. It’s all part of the process, Erin. Try to accept it, slowly. You have the time, certainly.” She loudly kisses the top of my head. “Time…time to get you out of the water, before you turn into a lovely prune, sweetlin’. Come on, hand me a towel, there’s a good wench.”

We exit the bathing room, wrapped in terrycloth robes. As we walk silently down the marble-floored corridor, I look up into Gwen’s aristocratic face. “Do you ever think of alternatives, Gwen?”

“All the time.”

“Will you ever…work on any of them?”

“All the time.” She grins, impishly, at me. “As you well know.”

I blush. Over 50 years of serving her, almost, and she’s still surprising me in bed. “Not just that, you horny thang…”

“I know what you mean,” she chuckles, “really, I do. Yes, I think about alternatives. I’ve told you some of what I’m planning. I have to solidify my political base here, on Earth, and plan on how to go from there. We have a good-sized Citizen population, and it’s growing. I have to think about how to expand the Domination in this universe, without threatening the Samos here, or encountering the Draka from Prime Line for the present. That could have some unfortunate consequences.”

“Yes, with Vashon’s party in charge…”

“Truly. So…yes, I’m thinking about alternatives. Some of them may surprise you. Speaking of which…any more surprises for me?” She walks into her quarters, tossing the last line over a tanned shoulder. I almost fall over my robe.

“No…”

“I hear the hesitation in your voice, Erin; you know how futile it is to try and hide anything from one of us. Come here, brush my hair, and tell me what other little tricks you’ve been up to, behind Schalk’s back, and mine.”

“I…uh…” I pick up the brush, and begin stroking it through her thick hair slowly.

“Please. Let’s do this in a nice, friendly manner. It’s been something I’ve been thinking about, and it’s something we have to clear up now. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes, Muhmis. I understand…” I swallow in a mouth gone dry. The way we imitated the transducer signals must have really given Schalk and Gwen a jolt, security-wise, and I’m sure some of the other Draka in the know must be concerned. This could be unhealthy, girl, the tiny voice in my mind whispers. Very unhealthy.

“Well?” I hear the warning in her tone, and wince.

“Ah, Gwen…it was never done against you, or the Domination…”

“Answer me.” She looks at me in the mirror, her eyes level and serious. “What else?”

Damn it. Hellfire. Shit. I sigh, deeply. “Um, there’s only one other thing I can think of that I’ve done without your knowledge. Besides birthday presents and such…” My attempt at humor falls dead. Thud.

Gwen raises one eyebrow, coolly. “And?”

“Gwen, we…I…that is…ok. We Mod 1 humans…well, we’ve…um…” I shift from foot to foot, the brush hanging forgotten in my left hand, a swath of mahogany hair in my right. Gwen turns around, takes the brush from my hand, and cups my chin in her hand. Her fingers, steel-strong, hold my head steady. I can’t avoid her eyes. It’s like I’m sinking into them, my god, help me, someone…

“And you’ve done what?”

“I figured out how to modify the Samos’ AI networks, patch it into a transducer, and avoid security detection. It’s different enough technically that the AI doesn’t set off alerts from Security scans, and the transducer is modified only a little, so it passes muster, too. It…it’s increased our information processing speed over 120%. So far. It’s…it seems to be learning, and growing, so we’re able to process more and more information over time.”

“Do the Samos know you’ve done this? Have they helped?” Her fingers tighten, slightly, but enough to make me wince.

“No! Neither you nor they know about the modifications. Um, all the Mod 1 humans have it now. We only did it on a couple of people first—volunteers—and when tests showed it wasn’t hurting anything, we all did it. All 235 of us.”

“You’re telling me that you modified all Mod 1 humans on this planet, without my authority?”

My voice shakes. “Yes, Muhmis.”

Her gaze is steely now; the green in her eyes has gone as cold as waves from a North Atlantic storm. Her voice is a steely whisper, cutting into my mind. “Why?”

“Why the modification? We wanted to be able to process a tremendous amount of information. It was something we wanted to do, just to see if it would work. It…it was fun.”

“Fun?!”

“You asked.”

Her hand shakes me. “Don’t be impertinent.”

“Sorry, Muhmis.”

Her face softens, from the hard angles and edges it had just held. A glint of humor comes back into her eyes, but not much. “Why the need for so much processing power?”

“I had a plan…an idea…”

“And it is?” Her hand loosens a bit on my chin; long fingers caress my cheek.

“Exploration. With the unlimited lifespan, and the technology we have, and what we’re developing, especially with the mole holes, we have the opportunities of lifetimes here. To explore. And if we’re going to explore, why not be able to process all the new information, plus the technical data we’ll be needing to get there and back?”

“Who says I’m sending any of you anywhere?”

“I was hoping you’d be the one to say it. Hope, Gwen. It’s the biggest imaginable carrot there is, you don’t hardly need a stick to go along with it. Given hope, we’re willing to live under the Domination. Marya was, too. But she always had hope, and plans. So do we. Instead of trying to squash that, like I’m sure Vashon would, why not work with it? It’s an alternative.” My mountain accent has grown stronger in the last few minutes, under the stress.

“Indeed.” She lets go of my chin, stands and begins braiding her almost-dry hair into a club. “Is there anything else I need to know? I can’t have you doing secret things behind my back, Erin, especially now. I have to have stability here. There are Draka here, as well as Samos, who would like to be in charge, not serving under my Archonate. Finding out that my personal saafn, my prime councilor, has been doing all sorts of unusual technical developments under my nose…would be…embarrassing.”

“I know, Muhmis. I won’t let that happen.”

Gwen turns to me. “No, I won’t let that happen, Erin. If I have to, Schalk and I will interrogate you. Our methods work, believe me. We can find out anything we want to know. Unfortunately, it’s quite unpleasant for you during the process. Am I making myself clear? I’ll tear you apart, muscle by muscle, nerve by nerve, if I think you’re hiding something on me again. If I even suspect it. You may be my saafn, I may love you, but needs must. The Race’s needs come well before yours. Understood?”

“Yes, Muhmis.” I bow deeply. “I understand. There’s nothing else. I promise.” I look upwards, into her stern face. “Please, it was never against you that I did these things. Never. I know I belong to you, Gwen, I know that…I know I am a serf of the Domination of the Draka. But I still have hope. Don’t take that away, please. I’m on your side. Please, please, trust me.”

The woman turns from me, slipping on a pair of shorts and then a silk blouse before answering. “I trust you. Even though you’re not of the Race, I trust you. Don’t betray me. Not like Marya.” 

Gwen spins around suddenly, and squats in front of me, muscles bulging in her thighs. Her eyes are like green lasers; I stifle the sudden urge to crawl under the dresser. Her voice is a glacial whipcord saw. “Do you have any gods-damned idea what would have happened to me, the supposed ‘one thing in the Domination’ that Marya loved, or said she loved—if the S.D. had discovered the disks I was carrying held a virus? And communications from the Alliance? Not even my mother or my uncle could have saved me from their scalpels, their wires, their drugs. Do you have any idea how bad that would have been? But she says she loved me. Loved me. Do me a favor, Erin, don’t ever love me like that. I’ll break your mind if you ever make me suspect that.”

The Draka stands up, straightens her clothes, and walks from the room, leaving me quivering, cowering on the floor. It takes me minutes, long minutes, to still the shivering in my body, to quiet the raging fear inside. Don’t worry, Gwen, I whisper to myself. I’ll never…ever…betray you. As God is my witness…never. Never that. 

I sit on the bench by the dresser for an hour or so, staring into the mirror, wondering where in the world I’m going and what I’m doing. No tried and true answers pop forth, either, like in a Disney movie. I’m left, in the end, with more questions than answers. Slowly, I walk from the room, and towards the dining room, where I can hear Gwen and Schalk talking quietly, enjoying their meal together.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter 22  
**  
In all the old movies I used to watch—back when they were on film, and not broadcast over our transducers and the Net—the stars used to fly by the spaceships, giving this impression of speed, of actually getting somewhere. Not in real life, I think. Here, the only way to really know you’re travelling is to go to the bridge and access the information from the computers. The stars are not flying, not twinkling, not doing any of those things. They’re just themselves, in the cold emptiness of space. We’re so small…

I shiver slightly and pick up my sweater from the chair behind me. I’m in one of the private cabins forward; the view screen dims as I send the command, and lights come on in a subtle, understated manner. The room looks warm and inviting now, not cold as all the space outside. My body shivers again, my mind grappling with the immensities of time and space. All the reading, all the movies in the world don’t prepare you for the shock of actually being there.

The warmth from the wool sweater—dark blue, with gold highlights along the neck and sleeves—cheers me up, though. Over all the years—generations—that the Draka have been here, I’ve always been able to find something to hope for, something to keep me cheerful. Maybe I’m not sane, I wonder, but at least I’m happy? Nah. I’m sane. I’m sane enough to know the risks we’re taking…

I move across the cabin—luxurious in its space and amenities—and sit at the mahogany table. The lighting in the room glints off the silver disks I have spread around my hand-comp; each disk is the size of my thumbnail. Much larger than they actually need to be, of course, but easier to handle. Sighing, I pull my hair back from my face, and reach for the nearest disk, one containing proposals about continued exploration and terraforming of our solar system—

The disk seems to slide smoothly into my hand before I touch it.

I blink in amazement, and then drop the thing on the table, like it’s a hot potato! What the hell?

It must be some sort of static, maybe, on my fingers—the sweater—of course. That’s it. I reassure myself, take the sweater off and hang it on the back of the chair. Reach for the disk again, and—

Again, it slides almost greasily into my outstretched hand. My fingers close around it in reflex, and I then force myself not to drop it. Gah…Looking it over carefully, I don’t see anything unusual. It looks like all the others. Maybe I’ve just been working too many hours, I think to myself. Even an augmented, Mark I human has his or her sleep needs, and Gwen and Schalk haven’t been giving me much sleep recently… maybe that’s it. My depth perception is off, that’s all.

I command my transducer to run a quick medical diagnostic on myself, and everything comes up normal (for an augmented human, that is), except my pulse rate, which is higher than usual. Sighing, I put the disk down on the smooth surface of the table and reach for its neighbor. Before my hand touches it—this time I’m watching very closely—the disk slides across the table surface into my hand. 

“Good lord!!!” I drop the disk next to its companion, and look at my hand. Nothing unusual there…

“Now what in the tarnation is going on?” I mutter out loud, and stand up. I reach for the hand-comp, and it’s in my hand faster than I expect, too. I put it down, a frown on my face, goose bumps all over me. I don’t understand. It’s like when I think it, it happens—no, that’s crazy. That’s crazy. Physics. No.

My hand moves over the table, about four or five inches off the surface, and I pause over one of the disks. Nothing happens. Then I make myself think, “I want this disk…” Before the thought is completely done, the disk is in the palm of my hand, and my fingers have closed around it. What the hell??

“This is…weird.” I sit back down, my legs suddenly a little weak. I carefully put the disk down, and point my finger at the hand-comp. “Come here—you,” I mouth, and the machine slides to my finger and waits. I shudder. “Maybe I have been working too damn hard?”

Does it work on anything else, I wonder, like…my sweater? I stand up again, and walk to the other side of the table. Let’s see if distance has anything to do with it. “I want my sweate—” I don’t finish the sentence, because my mouth drops open in amazement. The sweater smoothly undrapes itself from the back of the chair, and moves in a glob of blue and gold to my waiting hands. It feels like the same sweater I was just wearing…I look it over carefully. “Maybe we’re in some strange field? In space? Maybe?” I’m starting to feel just a bit warm, too. My transducer informs me that I’m running a slight fever and suggests a small dose of medication to alter it. I tell it no, to wait. 

Putting the sweater down on the table, I walk to the other side of the room, where someone’s placed a vase of flowers from the hydroponics section—poppies, dark blue—Himalayan poppies, I remember—and I think, “I want a flower…” One of the flowers moves from its friends and slowly, through the air, moves until it’s in my outstretched, waiting, shaking hand. So, old girl, it works on disks, hand-comps, sweaters, and flowers. What it is, I haven’t the faintest idea…my head throbs slightly, and I loosen my collar with my free hand. Warm in here, ain’t it?

Ma?

My son Patrick’s voice pings me, through the transducer. Which, of course, is doing its computerly best to fuss at me over my growing fever and pulse. My blood pressure’s doing interesting things, too. I tell it to hush, and just record, and by way of security, tell it not to send the information on to the med lab. Not yet. “Yes, Patrick?”

Ma, I need to talk with you. May I come over? It’s…um…important.

His voice sounds worried; the transducers, with our slightly unauthorized alterations, have become very very good at picking up even the slightest inferences in communication. Even Gwen has noticed that. Yes, Patrick, come on over. It’s fine.

Thanks, Ma. I know you’re busy.

And you’re not?, I wonder to myself. Working as Alexandra’s aide-de-camp, running all sorts of tests on new weapons systems, and all the other things you do? He’s such a good boy—Peter would be so proud of our son, I think. I miss Peter, even after all these years.

Patrick knocks electronically at the door, and it slides open at my command. That’s one thing about being the Prime Councilor for the Planetary Archon—I am allowed privacy. If I didn’t have that sometimes, I think I would go nuts. My son hurries into the room, and comes to a sudden stop in front of me, eyes wide.

“Ma, the weirdest shit has been…”

“I know. I think I know what you’re talking about! Like this?” I think towards a disk, and it rises to meet my hand. His eyes, already wide, go even larger—whites showing all the way around. He nods, wordlessly. I drop the disk and look him in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on, Patrick. It’s happening to you, too?”

“Yeah…I mean, yes. It’s…well, George and Ellen noticed it first, as they were getting ready for an EVA, to check on some of the instrument panels we’re putting out, and…then I noticed it…but none of the servus have had it happen, nor any of the unmodified humans. And the Overlords don’t know about it yet.” He looks seriously at me. “Do they have to?”

Remembering Gwen’s last conversation with me about such, I shudder slightly. “Yes. In fact, I’d be surprised if they don’t already know, from talking with a servus or an unmodified human by now. It’s shocking enough when you’re by yourself and it happens—I can’t imagine the shock other people would have, watching it.”

“The servus were worried, all right. Of course, some of them wanted to investigate right then and there, on how it happens, but I sort of told them not to worry about it. And I told the other Mark Is to try to NOT do it, until I’ve talked with you. How does it work? Why is it happening? I mean, this is amazing.” He gestures toward a chair, and it floats knee-high. Without a physical touch…

“Urgh. Stop it, put that down. It makes me kinda woozy.” I hold my head and wander over to the other side of the room, sitting down in a more comfortable chair than those by the table (floating and non-floating alike). Patrick follows me over, first allowing the chair to thump to the deck.

“Your head hurts, too? Not real bad, but sort of achy? Do you feel hot? Yeah, you’re running a slight fever. So am I. So is everyone who’s been experiencing this. Do you think it’s dangerous, Ma?” He kneels down on the deck in front of me, and holds my hands in his, caressing them. “Ma?”

The door slides open, and Alexandra enters. “There you two are. Have you heard the wild tales from the loading deck? I mean, what sort of tricks are you pulling, my Pat? It’s going all over the ship!” Her merry smile fades, and a concerned look shadows her face. She comes over to kneel by my chair, too, like Patrick, and looks me over carefully. Her eyes then take in the condition of her personal saafn, my son, and a frown forms on her classical features. “What’s going on here, Tantie-ma?”

“We’re not sure, at the moment, darlin’,” I murmur, and stroke a finger down her face like I used to when she was a child. So many years ago, part of my mind whispers. I shrug that melancholy thought away, and smile at Gwen’s daughter. “Really not sure. Something odd is happening, and I can’t explain it. Nor can Patrick.”

“Well, we need to get a handle on this, and quickly. The rumor mills are running, and it’s getting wilder with every retelling. What exactly is going on? What’s happening? Why are both of you slightly fevered?” She looks up into my face with those amazing leaf-green eyes, and smiles gently. “Tell me, show me what’s going on, and we’ll figure something out, Tantie-ma Erin.”

Patrick stands up and grins. “This is an example.” He looks toward the chairs by the table and all of them—all four—rise several feet into the air. They slowly twirl around and put themselves back on the ground, facing out away from the table. Patrick looks triumphantly at me, and then at his Muhmis, Alexandra. She’s still kneeling by my side, but she’s frozen; a look of consternation on her face.

“What in the name of Thor have you been doing? How? How does that…what’s the trick? How do you do that? Can you do it, Erin?” She turns back to me, and I see that her eyes are wide, her ears lying back along her skull, her hair beginning to bristle.

“Well, we don’t really know how it’s done. We just…I just sort of think it, and it happens. But you get a headache and you get kinda shaky if you do it too much,” I answer, and stroke her face again. “It’s something that apparently just began happening, and I don’t understand it much just yet.”

“Gods above and below…Pat, can you move people? I mean, have you tried? Or really—come on, tell me now—is this a joke? A practical joke? Because if it is, it’s gone way too far. People are upset. Word’s spreading. If it’s a joke, you nee----aaaiieieiee! Put me down! Put me down this instant!” Alexandra flails in mid-air, as Patrick grins. Her voice goes cold. “Put me down. Now.”

He hastily obeys, and we both stand back as she struggles for control. “I guess I should be careful for what I ask, eh?” Her voice has remnants of Command left in it, but her natural good humor is trying for a come-back. “Don’t ever do that again, pretty-buck. I mean that!” She smoothes some wrinkles out of her black uniform, adjusts the collar…and finally looks at us. “So I guess you can move people, too. Not just inanimate objects.”

“Yes, Uhmis,” I answer, respectfully. She hears it in my voice, and relaxes a bit more. “But we don’t know how it works.” Part of my mind whispers, Yes, we can move you, and you can’t do anything about it, Draka. Perhaps… I shut that thought off with an effort, and listen to what Patrick’s saying.

Patrick sighs. “And I wish it didn’t make my head hurt.”

“I don’t understand how you can do this without actually, somehow, touching the person…” Alexandra mutters, lost in thought. “But the implications…”

The door slides open again, and Gwen, followed by Schalk, enters. “What in the world is going on?”

“Hi, Ma. Hi, Schalk! I was just asking Erin and Patrick the same thing. Whatever you do, don’t ask them if they can move people.” Alexandra sits down where I had been sitting, still puzzling over the whole situation.

“Move people?” Gwen comes to stand next to me, her hand on my shoulder. I nod, wordlessly. She looks from person to person, and frowns. “So these wild rumors of humans moving things with their minds is true? Children, if this is a joke…”

“No, Muhmis!”

“No, Ma!”

“No, Uhmis the Archon!”

Schalk smiles slightly, and leans against the back of Alexandra’s chair. “You can hear the truth in the human’s answers, Gwen. Alexa, what’s been happening? Sort out rumor from fact, and brief us.”

Alexandra quickly runs through the events of the morning, and the two older Draka listen silently until she’s finished. A silence settles over the room, and I begin to feel rather uncomfortable. I know Gwen feels me stiffen under her touch, and of course she can smell my emotions…I look up into her face.

“Muhmis, this isn’t something we developed without your knowledge. I swear.”

Much to my relief, she smiles slightly. “I believe you, my wench. Now demonstrate for me what this… ability… does.”

Turn-about is fair play, I think to myself, and hoist Patrick into the air, as he had done to Alexandra just a few moments earlier. He muffles a yell, and then grins as I twirl him around slowly, as he had done to the chairs. The three Draka stiffen, and watch closely as he moves, without visible support, through the air. As I move him, I command my transducer to monitor my body as well as his for anything unusual—anomalous. Nothing shows up. Maybe I’m just not measuring the right way, I wonder. Quantum effects, perhaps? But why? Why just us modified…oh. Oh. The changes we’ve made—the melded technologies—could it be?

“Put the boy down, Erin. Explain to me how you did this,” Gwen says, her hand still on my shoulder. It squeezes slightly, and I obey her instantly. Patrick lands cat-like on his feet, and grins at Alexandra. “I don’t know, Muhmis. I really don’t. Only the modified humans are showing this, and that makes me wonder if there’s something odd going on with the new technologies we’ve done—the melding of the Samothracian AI and the Draka transducer—I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to find out, and quickly. First, though, I’m commanding all the Mark Is, you two included, to stop using this…whatever it is…until we know more about it. Is this very clear?” Her voice is firm, and my son and I both bow to her. All around the ship, I know, modified humans are pausing in whatever they’re doing, and acknowledging her command. “Now, you two, to the med lab, so we can run some tests. Come on,” Gwen says, gently steering me by my shoulder. “Let’s get the medical examination over with, since I know you dislike them so. Then we’ll have more to go on.”

**  
I wait as the medtechs finish running their tests—nothing has come up anomalous, which is what I expected. I’m not sure how this works, nor is anyone else, at this point. I do know that it works, though. How, I can’t explain, even to myself. The fever seems to come and go, depending upon the use of the abilities, and if I try too hard, the headache gets quite severe. I think, if pushed too far, it might have some very serious consequences. I keep that to myself.

Patrick’s noticed my silence. “Ma?”

I motion the medtechs away…giving us the illusion of privacy…and smile wanly at him. “Well, I wasn’t planning on this sort of thing to happen today, that’s for sure.”

None of us planned it, Ma. But think about the possibilities… His emotions surge through his transducer link with me, and I wince, mentally.

Patrick, don’t go there. Not yet, not ever, maybe. We have to be so careful right now…

But Ma…I picked up Alexandra. They can’t do anything about it. If we can link, somehow, then we’d be even more powerful than we are on an individual basis. It means freedom, Ma, and they can’t do anything about it.

Don’t count on it. I break off the conversation as Gwen and several other Draka, who all look concerned, walk over to us. Their noiseless footsteps on the white tile floor remind me that they’re predators, and I hope Patrick remembers, as well. If he doesn’t, we’re in a world of trouble. More than usual, that is. “Muhmis?”

“They can’t find anything causing it…at least not yet. And I really don’t want to have to use more…invasive…methods, unless we have to. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Erin? Let’s make this as pleasant as possible.” Her voice is cool, and her eyes pin me to the bench I’m sitting on. It’s amazing how cold those leaf-green eyes can be.

“Muhmis, I really don’t know. You have to hear that…I know you know I’m telling you the truth. I think it’s directly related to some of the modifications we’ve made—we augmented humans, that is—to the transducer technology and the Samothracian cybernetics. But how it works, I haven’t the faintest idea. I want to know. I think it could be dangerous to our health, in more ways than one.” My eyes are on Schalk’s assistant, a willowy young Draka woman, named Ellisanda McKeep. Her eyes, if anything, are colder than my owner’s, and that frightens me. I know how, well, pragmatic, Gwen can be. McKeep is more dangerous, being less experienced, less used to humans, and ambitious.

“Shall we take them to the security area, Archon? I’m sure we could get some more information than that…” Her voice is silken, her attitude subservient and respectful. But ambitious, and hungry. I shiver. 

Gwen shakes her head, no. “Not until I know more from them right here. And I don’t think there’s a need to hurry things along, McKeep.” The younger Draka’s hair bristles a bit at Gwen’s cool tone, but she knows better than to say anything. Schalk glances over at her, and shakes his head, ever so slightly. He’s noticed her reaction, too, and the slight head movement is as effective a reprimand as a ten-minute bawling-out. The woman moves away, glancing down at her notepad in her hand, trying to save face by looking busy.

“Erin?” Gwen stands before me, hands on her hips. “You know we don’t like surprises like this.”

“Yes, Muhmis.” I bow my head, feeling helpless. Inside, a voice is yelling: You have power, use it, you fool, before it’s too late. I fidget slightly on the bench, hands in my lap. What can I say? I don’t particularly like surprises like this, either, Gwen. Jeezie petes.

“Make us Metics.” Patrick’s voice is firm. 

My mouth drops open as I turn to look at him. His eyes meet mine, and he ignores the transducer message I send: shut up! Stop! What are you doing?!

Gwen smoothly pivots too, goggling, looking him directly in the face. “What did you say, buck?”

“I said, make us Metic Citizens. We have the power to bargain with now, and it’s not the power of an individual human anymore. We’re linking. You can’t stop us. Let’s work toward this toget—” He falls backward, folding in half from the blow to his abdomen that McKeep has just landed. She’s standing over him, face flushed, fists clenched. 

“How dare you speak to the Archon that way? How dare you speak to any Draka that way, you impudent pup? I’ll have the skin off your back for it…” She reaches down to drag him to his feet, and I react. Not my baby. No.

The force of my thoughts slam her into the overhead, and the breath whuffs out of her in an instant. I hold her there, regardless of the pain dancing in my head, as I reach down and help Patrick stand up. As he opens his mouth to speak, I feel a touch on my shoulder. Gwen spins me around, pinning me against the bench, her right hand closing around my throat. 

“Put her down. Now.” The Command in her voice makes me wince, but somehow it’s buffered. I gasp out, against her hand at my throat, “When she promises not to attack my son…”

“We do not bargain with serfs. Put her down.” Gwen shakes me, roughly, her eyes going white all the way around. “Now.”

“Leave my mother alone!” Patrick grinds out, still bent over, his arms clasping his middle. “Or I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Do you know how close to death you are? One command, and you’re meat. Dead meat. Understood?” Schalk steps forward. 

“Please, please…stop all this,” I wheeze, and drop (well, Gwen told me to…) McKeep on the deck. She lands on fingertips and toes, and begins to launch herself at Patrick, a growl rising deep in her throat. “Please, Gwen, stop her, stop all this…we have to stop just reacting, trying to kill instead of understand. This will kill all of us if we don’t STOP!”

The use of her given name in mixed company—in public, as it were—causes enough of a sensation to pause McKeep in her charge, and causes Gwen’s face to flush with anger. But the pause is enough, and Schalk, the closest to Patrick, grabs him in a neck-hold. He waves McKeep off with his free hand, and she grudgingly, angrily subsides. The room is still—deathly still—and the moment seems to stretch on, forever.

“Please. Let’s talk, you and I, Gwen. In private. This is going nowhere fast, and it’ll only end up hurting everyone involved. Please. Muhmis.”

“Talk now. In public. Here.” Gwen’s voice is acid.

I sigh, or try to. Her hand still constricts my throat, and something in me rises up against it. Without thinking deeply about it at all, I merely wish her hand off my throat, and it’s forced away. My head throbs, rhythmically, but I push the pain aside. Gwen’s really angry now, I realize, from her body language and her scent, but I try to keep calm. Taking a deep breath, I begin: “Look. We’re at a cross road here, and we need to think about where we’re going and why.”

“Ma, we have the power. They know it. Let’s just say, ‘Fuck it,” and do it. They can’t stop us! We can be free! Forget Metic citizenship—we can be free of them completely!” Patrick yells, struggling against Schalk’s grip. Schalk is struggling, too, to keep a grip on the young man, and the danger in the room goes up another notch. Draka don’t take well to surprises, nor do they like being challenged.

“Patrick, stop it. I mean it. Schalk, let him go.” My voice surprises everyone in the room. “Both of you! Stop. We’re going to talk about things, not fight. We have too much to lose by fighting now. Think, don’t just react.”

“You have your lives to lose…”McKeep begins.

“We wouldn’t be the only ones to die. I told you. It’s not just an individual thing now—we’re linked. You can’t stop us.” Patrick stands free of Schalk’s grip, his face livid and sweating. His fists are clenched at his sides…

The power behind my eyes is pulsing, and I feel the strength of every other augmented human behind it. There’s a growing, dreadful compulsion to use it… I have the power to do this, I think. I could kill every Draka on this ship…but I’d probably die, too. Hellfire. No. There has to be a better way. “Listen to me, and stop all that blathering, damn it!”

My son turns to look at me, and his eyes say, “Traitor.” My heart breaks. No, it’s not like that, my son. Believe me.

“No. I’m not backing down, but I’m not going to throw everything to the wind, either. Listen, please, Gwen, everyone. If you…if we… can all just calm down for a second or two…”

McKeep’s rising scream of frustration interrupts me. “How much longer do we have to put up with such insolence? Just because she’s a favorite doesn’t mean she should be allowed to get away with this! Are we Draka, or are we mice? Gods be damned, I can’t stand this!” She charges toward me, a blur of motion, teeth bared in the lean face, the scream bursting out of her throat.

Gwen intercepts her, and flings her backwards, almost negligently. “Hold her. On penalty of your lives, hold her,” she snaps out to two other Draka. They obey, frowning. I know what they’re thinking…the favorite thing…it has to rankle them, rub their fur the wrong way. It rubs mine the wrong way, and I’m the favorite. Hell.

“Instinct! Instinct makes you what you are, and it dooms you. Unless you’re able to move past it, and think before you react. Can you?” I glare at Gwen, who’s turned back around to face me.

A long pause…her hands clenching and unclenching unconsciously at her sides…her hair has bristled, and she’s trying very hard not to growl out loud at me. But it’s a damn close thing. “Yes. No more attacks, unless I say so. Understood?”

No one says anything, but the other Draka in the room back away a bit. Not much, but enough to let everyone know that Gwen’s being obeyed. “Now, talk. Talk for your life, human.”

**  
“Look. This is the way things are. You’ve chosen to break off from Primeline, and start your own Draka empire, Gwen. You have, what, four and a half million Draka on the planet, or near it? And how many humans? How many Samothracians who are willing to work with you? How many Samothracians are willing to see every single Draka man, woman, and child dead? What about the Bugs? We know they’re still a problem. What else is out there that’s waiting for us? How many threats?” I pause, looking around the room. “What’s your saying, ‘We’re not a numerous people, and no one likes us’?”

“Yes. And your point is?”

“My point is this. With the changes that have happened with the augmented humans, you’re standing on a precipice. You can trust us, include us, or fight us and risk failing, losing everything. If you trust us, include us in this new empire of yours, then you’re gaining allies. Fight us, and you’re just gaining yet another enemy. And we’re an enemy you can’t really afford. I know you’d kill some of us…”

“Some? Just some?” Schalk breaks in.

“Some. We’d kill most of you. Enough augmented humans would survive. Think about it.” I spear him with my eyes, and he looks surprised. Angry, but surprised. The augmentation program had been put on high priority for several decades, and the numbers are against the Draka. He subsides, and I continue: “But I’m not here to threaten, not really. I know how Draka would react to being threatened, and feeling like they were in a corner. Logic would go out the window, wouldn’t it? You’d react the way you’re built to react, and that would mean a bloodbath on both sides. Who’d win?”

“We would.” Gwen’s voice is cool. “Even though there are more augmented humans than Draka. Your transducers have some surprises in them…that you don’t know about. One command, and all of you are dead. I’m leaning more and more that way…”

“Stop. Don’t do it. I’m not just pleading for my life. We know about the fail-safes—the death commands—and some of us have changed them. Erin didn’t know about it, so she couldn’t tell you. We knew she would tell you, if she knew.” Patrick sounds terribly grim, and I turn to him in pain.

“So you think I’d betray you?”

“No. It’s not like that, Ma. It’s…we know what you promised Gwen. That you’d tell her of anything else. And I know you. You stick to your promises. But that’s not important right now. What is, is that the Draka think they have an ace up their sleeve, and they don’t.”

The Draka look stunned and angry. Very angry. I charge on, the words rushing out of my mouth. “Listen. This isn’t about threats. This is about opportunities. Strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats? A way of analysis. What might look like a threat may indeed be an opportunity. Don’t throw it away by not taking the time to think about it. Please, for god’s sake, Gwen, listen.”

“Go on.” 

“The losses you’d suffer would cripple your plans for exploration and conquest. The losses we’d suffer would be terrible. But who’d win? Primeline and the other Samothracians. That’s who’d win. Think about it. You’re in the position now to gain us as Metics, or at least as free humans on your side, like the pro-Draka Samos, and instead you’re about to throw it all away?”

The silence fills the room like a smoke…or an early morning fog coming down the mountain, part of my mind remembers. I wait a moment, and go on. “Take us on as partners. I don’t know how this new thing works—I’m not sure we have the technology to learn how it works, yet. But it does. We’re willing to play on the same team, given some hope.”

“Hope?”

“Yes. Hope. Hope that one day, humans won’t be serfs. I’m not asking for immediate emancipation of all the humans on the planet. I know you won’t—you can’t—do that. But you can think about it. I want to you think, think about how it would help you chase your dreams in this universe. You’ll throw them away if you just react to us as a threat.”

I move off the bench, and towards Gwen. I take her hand—moving very slowly—and talk more quietly. “Gwen, this doesn’t mean we’re rebelling. This doesn’t mean we want to leave. We want to explore the universe as much, if not moreso, than you. Please, please, trust me. I don’t want to see bloodshed. I want to see us work together, live together, explore together.”

“She’s playing on your sympathies, Archon. We all know you have a weak place in your heart for the wench.” McKeep’s voice is cold. “But for the sake of the Race, teach her the cost of rising against her masters.”

“I have a different vision of humans than Primeline does, McKeep.” Gwen, still holding my hand, turns to her. “That’s why we had the split. Maybe you should have stayed there.” She looks around at the other Draka for a moment, gauging their moods, their emotions, their reactions. “I do love this wench. This person. She’s human. I don’t love her the same way I love my husband…” Gwen smiles at Schalk, the emotion plain in her face—“but I do love her. I don’t have a weakness about her, though. She knows that; she’s known that for decades. If I have to sacrifice her for the safety of the Race, I will.”

“Those of us who know you, Gwen, know that,” Schalk speaks up. Several other Draka nod. Patrick and I watch their faces, and then Gwen’s reaction. She relaxes, knowing from them that she’s still the alpha Draka. Still in command. Still respected.

“Because I listen to different points of view—new ones—doesn’t mean I neglect the needs of the Race. I’ve been born and bred to serve the State, and I’ve spent over 500 years doing it. Does anyone question that?”

No one says anything, and McKeep keeps her eyes on the floor. Carefully. She’s read enough of the others to know that if she rises against Gwen, she’s on her own. And Gwen’s reputation certainly has preceded her, I think. McKeep would be insane to challenge her now.

“Muhmis?”

“Yes?”

“Accept us as Metics. That can be a first step. There are precedents for it—in your history.” I watch her eyes, as they look down into mine. Leaf-green into hazel, Draka into human. “I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to leave you. I want to help you grow, and help you learn how to adapt.”

“What of the humans who want complete freedom?” She glances over at my son, who is staring fixedly at the wall, a tear trickling down each of his cheeks. “Will they fight?”

I answer, with a tremulous hope in my heart. “No. They’ll listen, if they have any sense at all. Like you. This new ability of ours—this gift—it can be used to help, or hurt. I want us to think about how we’re using it, and why. I want us to think about the future. I want your promise, Gwen, as Archon, that we can continue to talk about things. Not just fight over them. I don’t want Primeline taking over; I don’t want the other, hardline Samos taking over. I don’t want to meet up with more Bugs, or something worse. I want…” I pause. “I want to see the universe, Gwen. At your side. Not at your feet.”

Patrick looks up as I finish. “Erin knows we all just voted—and the majority agreed—to work with you, Archon. If you’ll make us Metics, if you’ll consider the eventual freedom of the human race. Explore the universe, at your sides—like Erin said—not at your feet. So what is it going to be? Will you grant us Metic citizenship, or will we fight?”

Gwen sighs. She drops my hand, which she’s been holding, and lightly, unconsciously perhaps, caressing, and walks away. She moves away from all the others in the room—by herself—and stands, looking down at her hands, for long moments. The room stays quiet—the subliminal hum of voices in my transducer quiets, as well—and I wait for her answer. Schalk sits down, looking at me and then Patrick with something like admiration in his face. No one else looks at us, or says anything.

Well, old gal, I think to myself, you’ve done it now. It’s either going to be, “On to the Universe” or “Off with her head”, and I wonder which is more likely. I wish I could help Gwen, I wish somehow we didn’t have to frighten each other so much. I know the Draka have plans, and that they tend to be rather hubristic, but I really hope they can adapt and change. If not, then not only are Patrick, me and every other augmented human probably going to be dead, but eventually, these amazing creatures—the Draka—will die. Those who can’t adapt, die. It’s that simple. Things come down to simple equations—life or death; adaptation or decline. Growth or retreat. Freedom or slavery…

Gwendolyn Ingolfsson turns to face us, her features calm and composed. Straightening her tunic with a slight tug of her hands, and adjusting her braided mahogany hair over one shoulder, she looks over all of us with a slight, enigmatic smile on her face. “Brothers and sisters of the Race, we have a chance here to grow. To seek our destinies among the stars. Chance comes and goes—and fortune favors the brave. It may be against our usual nature to accept anyone other than one of the Race as an equal, at least on a political level—but this little human’s right. We must adapt. We must use the resources we have to their best extent. If we don’t, then we’ll die off. It’s that simple. We can’t afford to throw away chance.”

“You’re giving in?” McKeep grates out, in horror.

“Giving in? No. There’s ample precedent for awarding Metic citizenship to deserving humans. These augmented humans could have wreaked havoc among us, but stayed loyal enough not to. I appreciate that. Erin’s analysis of the situation is accurate enough, logically. We can’t afford any more enemies, especially within our own camp. Killing them all would be a waste. Instead of destroying them, we’ll… absorb them. Use their strengths to build up our own.”

“But…” The Draka woman looks shocked. “They’re…human.”

“Augmented human. Not truly human any more, really. And we’ll think about how their children will be…further augmented. As Metics, they’ll have that freedom of choice. I have presented it to the Archonal Council, and with some reservations, we accept. We accept these augmented humans as Metics, with all the rights and privileges that come with the title. And all the responsibilities. As I said, there’s precedent. It’s my decision, as Archon.”

The Draka in the room look at each other in surprise; some worried, some hopeful. Schalk’s one of the latter. “Well, well. I am certainly surprised at this. But it may work out quite well. Quite well, indeed.” He gets up, and walks over to me. “May I be the first? Welcome, Metic Citizen. Service to the State.”

I clasp his forearm with my hand, duplicating the grip he has on my arm. “Glory to the Races.”

He’s not deaf, and notes the change I made. His eyebrows rise, and he looks to Gwen. She walks over, slipping her arm around me and nods. “Glory to the Races.”

Patrick speaks up. “What about non-augmented humans? When will they be free?”

“Perhaps, in time. We won’t pursue too many changes at one time. Give us time to adjust to this, Patrick, and we’ll consider the rest. It’s not a privilege granted widely…give us time. Give yourself time to adjust, as well.” Gwen smiles at him. “Even though you’re human, you still need that time.”

“But you are making a promise, Archon?” Patrick stands his ground.

“A promise to consider freedom for non-augmented humans. Yes. We will consider it. In time. That’s as far as I can go, as far as the Council is willing to go.” Her smile fades a little. “Do you want to threaten the decision we just made? Don’t be impetuous, youngling.”

“Please, Pat, listen. I don’t want the rest of the human race to be enserfed, but we will work on it, one step at a time. We have the first step done. Let’s look around and get used to the place before we move on. Please?” I reach out my other hand to him. “Please?”

“Yeah…” He smiles, slowly. “Thanks, Archon. Thanks for the promise. We’ll hold you to it.”

“I have no doubt you will.” Gwen tightens her grip around my waist. “I know your mother, and I know how…persistent…she can be. If you’re anything like her, I believe you. We’ll consider it. In time. But we have all the universe before us, brothers and sisters. All the universe, and all the time in the world, to explore it. What grander glory and hope can the Race have, than that?”

Gwen looks down into my eyes, smiling more widely. “All the time, and all the space…and with you, and Schalk, and our children, we have all the hope in the universe. We won’t waste it.” Her lips touch mine, and I feel Schalk’s arms around the two of us. Tears in my eyes, I nod against Gwen’s chest. 

“Please don’t waste the hope, Gwen…that’s all we have, in the end.”


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue

I’ve written this all down—recorded in a holodisk, as well, just in case—but I wanted a record of the struggles we humans and Draka went through. It wasn’t easy getting to where we got—at times, I really didn’t think we would. But we did. Survival. Sacrifice. Love. Trust. Exploration. 

I’m a different person in so many ways than that girl on the beach, on Andros Island. I sort of miss her, actually. Things were simpler then, or seemed to be. And now I sound like some old fart… anyway… just know, even if the whole thing implodes on us, or some Big Nasty Thing pops through another mole hole, that we managed to develop something new. Maybe better, maybe just enough. Where there’s life, there’s hope. And when there’s hope, there can be love.

And yes, Gwen’s sitting here beside me, watching me write, and smiling that close-lipped enigmatic smile of hers. “You’re such a romantic,” she murmurs. “Ignoring the joys of conquest…”


End file.
